Lately I  feel like this place
has become a house
that people has left
a long time ago,
with a lot of sun fading moments
and timeless spells
Where I hear people scribbles
Seemingly like ghosts
from a place I could never reached
Lately I find myself
fighting this game
of hope and catch me if you can
From a place
of fathomless longing
dreaming of words
as they whisper in my ear
to find my way back home,
towards the lingering light
that will otherwise
soon be a memory
among what feels
like a broken house.
Lately I feel like
there’s still a few words left whispering in my head
To keep speaking my story
where our golden light
engraves the secrets of our being upon this broken canvas
No matter what !!!

if you go down forgotten streets
where the lights push the nightmares aside

and travel down
some forgotten dreams
to hear the melody
and are drawn in
by the strumming of guitar strings

and there on the stage
a heart walking a wire
with a sad smile of thunder and rain
that rolls you like tumbling dice

and if you believe in love at first glance
and listen with a young heart
you'll hear the wind and stardust
that she's chasing in her song

In the quiet
In the stillness
Sun rising and shining
Being grateful and appreciative
Sometimes even that is not enough
But if you are thankful for another day to try again
Another chance to love your family and friends
Another chance to contribute to the world making it better
and brighter
Enjoy your day because you earned it

C@Rainbowchaser2023

Coffee, I adore thee,
somehow you never bore me.
Bold and dark or mild and smooth,
you get me up and on the move.

In warm embrace or cool frappe,
mocha, french roast, or tall latte,
crema, sospeso or con panna,
you never fail to make my day.

It’s the best thing ever manufactured,
without it, my mind is slow and scattered,
for a quiz or formulating I’d be knackered,
every morning the Keurig is where we gather.

You pick me up and keep me keen,
in complementing any cuisine,
by delivering a dose of sweet caffeine,
you are the original magic bean.

In doses quick or lingered over,
on mornings with a hangover,
I reach for you, your warm embrace,
the morning fogginess to erase.

The flavors, the scent, which is the best?
They are of compound interest.
French press or espresso - take your pick
- they all provide that delicious kick.

Jitter juice, rocket fuel, cup of joe,
cuppa, morning brew or ristretto,
your flavors please, your scent rouses,
a coffee shop is where the crowd is.

In slang they call it Mormon-crack,
but sugared up or with a snack,
with creamy art or straight-up black
once I’ve got it, you won’t get it back.

FASHION STATEMENT


the tree
gathered her leaves
around her



stuck
a passing cloud
in her hair



wore
a little  sunlight
& a slight rain



changed clothes
every now & then
as the fancy took her



now a brilliantly blue
sky
made of summer



now a warm evening
with just
the slightest breeze



then
a striking sunset
before falling asleep



wearing only
a night sky
with scattered diamante stars

expecting them to grow
even when they're buried
under the snow. Even as they hang
limp in her hand, even when

their heads are drooping
and colors are bland. She takes them
inside her home. Feeds them sweet
honeycomb. She sings to them

like a starling, coos and awws
and calls them darling. Plants them in
her fertile soil, only to see them
recoil. Day after day the petals fall. She lies

among them, weeps and sprawls. Remembers
the spring when they were lush. The memories
she has of her crush she stores in a drawer
as potpourri. And lives to write and tell the story.