Floral aspects of my life blooming in front of me
like wallpaper memories of my pink room
The smell of loose leaf hugging a red leather binder
flourishes underneath the sunlit words
of my young maiden's hand;
Looping letters that show the romantic side of me
small caricature vowels and nouns
that reveal the private parts that are never seen
Blushing mornings that drench the violets
in that little garden where father kept his vines
Quiet evenings spent in my room
talking to a Statue, "reflection of a Mystic soul"
I was so many girls back then, but today I am only one
A seasoned writer with who lives and strives  
despite the world's demise.

Dec 15, 2021

Memorial days of when my mind was clear as rain. Back then I did not feel so
Elementally insane.  I used to whip up a poem in minutes and smile like a
Neuromental trigger happy woman.  Then, as years went by I noticed the
Tell tale signs of aging and slowing.   Stress settled in as life changed and  
A virus spread through the land.  I swallowed my fears and continued to  
Love, live and laugh but something had changed.  Me... My mental health...

MEDITATE ON THE GOOD THINGS IN LIFE, IT WILL HELP YOU STAY FOCUSED :)

Healthy is the man and woman who digs her own garden or grave, I say  
Enlist in the power of heavenly beings and do your very best. Life is
A series of battles, lift your sword on high and don't let the devil win.
Learn to live with what you have and find strength and comfort in the  
Truth.  Mental health is pliable, it can break it can heal, it can change.  
Help is there if you ask for it. You are not alone, so share your story...

TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOUR MENTAL HEALTH, YOU ONLY HAVE ONE MIND !!!

Pen pals from the very start
scented paper and feathers of pink
inside a pre-kissed envelope of white
You, writing about the taste of Trinidad
by the sweet-burning smoke of a pipe blend,
me, whispering to you about the beauty of a snowflake  
as it comes swiveling down from heaven;
Letter writers of ancient times, hoping for love's arrow  
You, singing a Christmas Parang in a Trini voice of honey  
me,  with my faux fourrure and Christmas boots of leather;
Lovers yet to be my love but if this year I get my winter wish,
I will meet you by the Pigeon Point,   on December 29th,
with a glass of *** in one hand
and a plate of festive rice on the other
Together we will melt the last glacial memory
from our burning waiting hearts.

December 7 2021  

Meaning of Fourrure / french word for fur

Shivering me, lost in thoughts of falling snow
with eyes impaled on lights that blink and glow
I watch the Christmas scene unfold and flow
into a stitch of time, that hours can't un-sew

The little girl in me that once took life in toe
has disappeared from view and now I must forgo
the ringing of the bells this year, for I am still
standing at the window waiting for you,  Bill

Bereavement ***** and life can be a cruel blow
I am still trying to figure out this slippery hill
In my hands I hold three stones that I can't throw
and an armload of love that death can never ****

Perhaps through this I can traverse and grow
into a brilliant star of heaven and instill
the light that I once held that shone at will
inside these memories, that just won't go...

Cinderella memories buried in tombs of yesterday
back in the days when the sun cleaved like a sword
there were no words to explore the light of day
only silent thoughts acclimatized to each nosegay
Scented hopes and well hidden sachets by cedar box
Avon heavenly spritz an act of instant gratification
Lullabies that lingered late into the night , child Knox
telling stories of Princesses glass slippers and locks
Stagecoach mice scurrying past at the stroke of night
run girl run into your castle, see the hands of time
As the moon comes out to flash her flashbulb light
you will be hidden in the covers joyfully taking flight
A Cinder-dress made of chintz from nimble fingers
what is surreal, what is real and what is so sublime
when we get old everything we ever saw, lingers
everything we ever did, turns us into harbingers

Inspired by Artist and Photographer Annie Leibovitz

Back in the days when fences were constructed to lean on
I had my fathers smile my mother's apron now they're gone
Along with brother's camera and his filming laughter reels
Along with sister's bumbling ways and admiration reals ...

Fences are made to keep in or keep out.  Sometimes    
Erecting them can be a way of protecting or rejecting
No one knows the power of a fence more then those who
Crossed the holocaust fences and survived.  Fences can be
Easing posts for friendship or wired spokes with big fat  
Signs that say " Keep Out" it all depends what side your on

Back in the days when my dad build a fence for grapes and vines
I knew what belonged to other people and what was truly mine
Along with my cat, my bird, my three ring binder and my fence  
Along with my heart and my soul, I knew what to let in, hence ?

Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
He has come into this world the incarnate Deity
He has come to give us light and for all eternity
My Lord My Lord... My God My Father   2x
Born inside a ****** womb, He is buried in a tomb
Born a flame and died a King, now he wears the golden ring
MY Lord My Lord... My God My Father  2x
He has come into this world, while a star of heaven shone
He as come to be our Hope, with His presence fear is gone
My Lord My Lord... My God My Father  2x
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa
Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah Aaah aaaaa

There is a flower within each one of us
longing to blossom to the sound of our breath
Stars of beauty annihilate in a sky of shine
while we slumber in relaxed  mode beneath
the sphere of heaven's Zen

Fortitude and hope gather through the tunnel haze
where the center core of our well being
sits in the silence of our created space
We are but one being in an entire human race
grazing possibilities into the daring dreams

Oneness is made possible when we communion
with the atmospheric beings of Godly frequency  
Solitude becomes a desired quest
as the night shows up with all her sacred realms
of beauty and splendor

Let us bloom together
towards a tomorrow bereft of sorrow and loss.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUkwcPOXzqcInside
Within this beating heart of mine
my love for you is true consigned
beneath my skin a flowing rhyme
is tattooed on my soul, enshrined
Above us only stars and moon
are privy to our lovers croon
We are Zosma we are Supra
desired songs of Kamasutra
You can count on me my dear
my love for you is quite sublime
we are orbits of golden times  
always close and always near;  

To each other we will cling,  
as two Celestials Stars unhinge.

Some people live in cardboard boxes  
others between buildings
Certain individuals beneath a tent
others under bridges, or close to dumpster bins
Palpitating life on the street,
you never know who your going to meet
It can be lonely and  cold out there,  
some people's houses are made of brick and some of air
Some old folks wear pajamas at night and own heat  
others huddle in layered used clothing, shivering from cold
under garbage bags and ***** things;
I for one thank God every day for the roof over my head
No greater comfort, then owning a front door with a lock
and a furnace that works ;
A mattress with blankets, pillows that smell nice
Thank you God for all of that .

I remember in her eyes the color of Christmas day
and the taste of melted butter in the early morning sun
The cadence of her voice, the undertone sounds
of her silences,  it was long ago

She was a matriarchal mountain of energy back in days
when her hair was colored red and her cheeks pummeled pink
Decadent cakes for Christ's birthday accompanied by her own
we ate cake with eyes aglow

Then in the eve of midnight, we unwrapped
secrets that were handed down from family tree to family tree
prepping our dreams we slept without the know
that Christmases of future would hold no mistletoe

I remember her eyes two melting Chocolates,  
and the sound of her laughter was like rippled layers of agate.

Leave it hanging in the stars leave it round the bend
sometimes forgetfulness can be a real God send

Entrust  it to the moon above to an ocean full of Grace
velvet memories, regrets, evaporate without a trace

Live in knowledge it is safe you can trust the light ,  
relegate confide in Hope, before the end of night.  


STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES SERIES

I heard it from a good source that there ARE toilets in heaven
they are  called thrones and you must be pure to sit on one
When you do your BM it quickly turns gold, like the sun
aromatizing the sky with scent of roses at the count of seven

I heard it from a good source that there are chutes in heaven
aluminum coated tubes that deliver your innards to earth in a jiffy
you'll feel so Holy you'll want to hurry up and take a sniffy
before it all goes away, hug it,  and then count to seven

I heard it from a good source, the Angel in charge of pollution
that when Satan imposters arrive they are poked with a pin  
then as the dung falls out, it gets  neutralized with oil infusion
and sent back to that greasy devil who so loves sin  

So, if you spot a villain from hell better count until eleven
then flush twice and it will be eliminated from heaven
I heard it from a good source that Angels are savvy and smart
you can't get away with ** , for they got it down to an art.

Long ago before the High Fae before man, there was a Cauldron
They say all the magic was contained inside it since the world began  
One day it fell in the wrong hands and great horrible things were done to it
Many an object was forged but eventually it ran away heading for the hills  
It could not be destroyed, for it was made of many things, including steel
Late at night behind the mountains in the deep thick forest
the village people heard banging, clanging, and smacking
but when the morning arrived, all was quiet once again
Then one day a brave little boy went into the forest to see
The cauldron sensing the boy near stopped the thwacking right away
"Jiminy Cricket" what do we have here"  cried the boy
Cauldron spewed red lava from its top, then sirens like a cop
"not so loud" whined Jeremiah, just hold still and I will help you
then he scraped and he slashed and he pulled all night
until the cauldron was bare,  beneath the moonlight
Long ago before the dark witches of Chenwick village chanted in bold
their was a lovely Cauldron that refused to do evil, or so I was told.

Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2021

Purple bats and evil cats and strangled ghosts that laugh
jet black cloaks, snickering blokes and witches that gaff

Pumpkin grins, talking garbage bins and all that moves
Halloween rhymes and pentacle signs with evil grooves

Children running from the shadows towards the gallows
skeleton molds on scaffolds, and specters in the shallow

Phantoms and demons, bogey men with haunting looks
talisman, walking totems, demon hags with spell books

Haunted houses, mummy spouses and imps that steal  
cemetery moans and groans, stiffs that oink & squeal  

BETTER HURRY ON HOME BEFORE YOU BECOME THE NEXT MEAL
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2021

Embraced by the light I walked on
beyond the veiling door
A chasm of love deeply shone
before my eyes adore  

He raised his arms to me  
and I felt wholly free
Beneath His radiant glee

I sat on Mercy's knee until all fear was gone
and while they prayed embraced by the light, I walked on.

God is Love—I dare say. But what a mischievous devil Love is!
~Samuel Butler~ (1612–1680)



What can it be this act so grand
that one can taste it through dark skies  
and even when a baby dies
love beats inside a mother's cries

What is this love of Heroes
that when the world has gone insane
it rights the wrongs inside your brain  
and fills your soul like rain

What is this thing that we all love
that gives us breath and life
is it a tool that ends all strife
or acts of God under a knife

What can it be this word so deep
that seeps you to the bone
its LOVE alone
that  saves, then brings you home.

Nocturnal visions of the highest order welcomes you
Priestess of ancient tribes...
Cast your spell, wrap the moon with dark tinsel shawls
Open the gateways dark anime girl ,
potentize your aerial fields of resonance
enter into the dragon's shrine and use your potion
to qualm the drake keeper;
Seize your destiny as the stars seizes the night
use your wizardry to dye the sun hairs off the sun  
allow the purple bruises of evening to give you
eglantine kisses, dark as blackstrap molasses
if all else fails rock to the mellifluous rhythm
of tantric drums.  Ink your beauty on their bodies,  
morosely caress their wounds and heal them,  
Saturate them with your purple plum heart.

I stay away from the cemetery at night for that is where he lives
I call him the Demon head, and he has horns  of alabaster calcite
every time I visit my friend's grave, I always break out in hives
cuz he is always there shedding his horns, all through the night

I light my lantern and walk with a mask on in case he's hiding
bidding my time I smoke a cig or too, and wait for the daylight
he never comes around here, behind the aluminum siding  
when dawn finally arrives, I am free from his kryptonite

Dancing pumpkins, roiling breath of cadavers and body rots
deadly snakes and big fat bats that fly into cracked empty pots
Demon head with all his rotting diplomats cannot shed fear  
when it comes to the likes of him, well I stay clear.....

I stay away from cemeteries and Demon's with horns of calcite
cuz when they shed, the hives begin to itch with all their might.

White lotus of love you are always a promise  
you with your petals soft and ready to open
why do you entice me to dream like a sleuth
looking for signs everywhere, are you youth?  

Egyptian beauty of grace I remember your face
you send shivers down my spine warm as wine
this little thing we have together , pure heather
feather me with your kisses but don't go away

White lotus "I call you Hope"  show me uphill    
let me climb you, and as I rise I'll turn and spin
promise me you'll deliver me into tomorrow  
regardless of what I see I believe in you lotus

White lotus of love you are always by my side
bloom in me so I may beget your love's arride.

The greatest gift that I could give you is the gift of my long years
every shade of burgundy that wine can't sell
every shade of gold that the sun cannot display
the greatest gift that I can give you, is the gift of my years
I am October, I come once a year at your home my love, to
Caress you with shivers both warm and cool.  I am a  
Teleported month that sweeps away the summers scorch
Opening doors to pastures and rustic pleasures, plum corn
Bathed in yellow juicy grains and bites, acorns, pinecones
Environmental beauties that never exist in winter's spew;

Return to me lover as I puff over you, I am "October "
your favorite color,
silk scarves are put away mink coats are worn
summer suits placed in cedar drawers,  
I am suddenly reborn through airy branches of trees  
Feasting on your wind whipped eyes of blue
I become October every consecutive year,  
your favorite color is October, and mine is you.

Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for me, with its blushing  
Apples and fruitful trees dressed in zesty rubious healthy leaves with      
Luminous fruit hanging off its stems, like galas, granny smiths, and fuji
Leaves of multi colored sunburnt shades of yellow, gold and brown  
Inside the orchard, ladders, bushels, straw hats and farmer pant- grins  
No better place to be then underneath an Autumn tree when every    
Golden leaf shimmer-shimmies before swiveling down at  your feet    

Leaves that dance and shuffle-shake before landing in your hands    
Earthing to the ground covering you with giant leafy  dry crispy limbs  
Arrest the night, stop the moon, hold the stars, its time to listen to the      
Voices of the night, the falling leaves have their sorrowful story to tell
Ease into their season with a quiet soul.  Help them say goodbye to the  
Summer. After all it is the season of Autumn,  a time for falling leaves.

September 27, 2021

Encapsulated in a world of duty and obligation
I see no room for fantasy or imagination
no wind of September
can ever dismember
the longing I feel for illusion, fantasy and excitation

Only the stars of heaven can throw me a rope
at night when I sleep, its the only time I cope    
the moon  
is my woon  
up there in the sky its the only thing that floats like hope.

September 23, 2021

Tempering colors of magnetic reds and browns
September, you sure know how to make me turn around
enclosing me in comforting space warm as a fireplace
you make me long for firewood and campgrounds
Maple trees of yellow and honey wood leaves
you make me want to trade my frosty lips for a cinnamon kiss
down in the meadows, the woods are whispering
saying their goodbyes to La Fleurs Fe Lis
Linden wood dreams beneath a golden Autumn
the cedar gum and the cedar oils are healing balms of choice
aiming for the hills on a cool September eve  
suddenly I feel like I have found my voice;

I love you September more then words can say
I think I'm going to go jump in the leaves,
one more time,  before my last hurray !

Amidst reality of my life two single things remain
inflection of your voice and glow of your tender eyes
held safe by this memory we become transparent rain      
wild as the tidal waves of Bristol souls of no disguise    
fluid as the ocean with are open inlets giving rise  

sepia moments of a little cottage hidden in the cove
the scent of sweet cinnamon and the taste of your clove  
the cackle sound of unseasoned wood against the brick
we ****** the flavors of our passion, and called it love,  
holding on to each other, like flames on a candle wick

molten wax and liquid centers with all I hold so dear  
when the moon comes into view the stars turn into glass
willful moments arching as tender reeds adhere      
we spiral down the staircase, of God's Mandir  
we find the miracle of us, and know that it will last  


caught between two soft spots we are cloaked in silk
like two lovers in heaven or two lonesome sacred elks
amidst the reality of my life, two single things remain
the taste of a kiss and the place from whence we came
you my first love, were always right as rain.

August 27, 2021

You were only twelve when I first met you through your mom
a special star in the sky that shone always brighter then the sun
You had the rare ability Alison of seeing auras around each soul
and when you spoke about it, your eyes pinned me like dark coal

Then you visited Quebec City and you came down with a disease
a rare one, with only 7 in the world, no drugs could fast appease
Intestinal lymphangiectasia, as rare as it was , you fought it still
at the Sick Kids Hospital, they placed a tube and fed you at will

You raised money for others like you, and doctors were baffled
by the sheer stamina of you, we had a banquet and tickets raffled
You wore a lavender gown and you gave a speech that made us cry
at the age of eighteen you died, and never questioned God's why

Your mom, my best friend, got a coach with horses of white rhodium  
and at your funeral  the congregation of angels were your symposium
I never cried so much as I did that day, when you left behind Caroline
a sister who loved you more then anyone else, but it was your time

Alison my dear may you rest in peace, and may the wayward dove bring
your memory to the caves of Al, where children children bravely sing
God speed my love, may you arrive to the summit of your realization
that the auras you saw were a reflection of your Angel immunization .

It was a sizzling summer of electric blues and vibrant hues
in  a garden full of flowers inked in plushy spanking reds
a wall of buttress wood splashed with vines of green
a purple morning glory with a touch of dewy sheen
over by a mossy pond a mandarin duck of orangey blue

The sun turns amber like a big fat shimmering coin of gold
in a sky that often blushes fuchsia,  pink, by a cloud's enfold
emerald blades of grass behind a white striped skunk  
a gradient shade of orange, from a Siberian chipmunk
here by the royal blue bench, a vibrant peacock fans bold

It is a season of rainbow colored rain and red electric trains
in a terrace full of trellises of white, roses bright as Spain  
blooming with vigor inside my bright oasis
happily connected to a Revlon kiss,  
of  cherry berry merry, on a girl named Mary Lou Fontaine

Throughout the history of human kind spirituality
has been the vehicle that leads us to a new modality
As breath is linked to life, it is the transient carnality
of the spirit, the one forever flow of wholesome chi
To breathe is to live, to live is to exist with extensity
born to take our first breath with lung flexibility,  
we learn to appreciate our duration and existentiality
as we be breathed and speeded, into infancy  
We live and have our moments in expectancy  
honoring each other with loyalty and compliancy  
The breath is the life and the life our determinacy
to exist, in a world of utter lunacy and discrepancy .

She walked the labyrinth with her head bowed down
and thought of Christ with His thorny encrusted crown
Each rock was interlinked, attached to a circular maze
and as the sun poured, onto the rocky terrain of Falaise
a silent prayer was uttered, as she set Sanctity ablaze

She came from the cloistered Abbey  on Rue de Calix  
having spent so many years kissing her little crucifix
it was a new world here outside, in the soil of France
hundreds of stones polished with natural enhance
its was a time of encapsulated self, in stillborn dance

she awoke  after the war, through Normandy's unrest  
A mother's diary was tucked inside a wooden chest
filled with flourish scribble from an ancient faded nib
It was meant to help a young woman survive and imbibe
she acquired strength, this little girl named Marie Lepine

Inside a velvet pouch was an old stone from the beach
long before the bombardment, a child was out of reach
Polished with the tears of a mother who cried of fright  
for a daughter who was to be left orphaned in the night
She kissed the stone that healed, through love and light.

Have you ever given thought on how language  impacts you,  
good or bad it all depends on the words you ruminate & chew
be careful what you choose to expel when your mouth spews
for it can either bless someone or wound,  bet you never knew
  
that one can learn to ponder words and usher without blurt
do not speak on angry terms for all it does is bring more hurt  
when the sun go down, tuck away hostility and don't be curt  
make sure you  care enough not to pill, rampage, or blurt

words can be a sanctuary to go to when no one seems to care
they can be a respite from that cruel world, your Lancelot dare
don't let the light of the stars cease to shine because of a flare
be slow to roll that pearly tongue, even slower to make it blare

not everyone thinks like you, wrong and right is only a concept
so don't bully your opinions on others and make them feel inept
please don't yank words out, it would be best if they overslept
good bedside  manners are essential, it cannot be windswept.  

July 10, 2021

Let me see if I still remember how
to light an emotion with just one touch
Caress the linen dreams of my hot summer day
with just the sound of your sweet laughter ..
I shall attempt to recreate "desire"  
by watching your strong muscular legs glide
deeper, into the mouthwatering jungle of my ***
Let me lick a moment off your long hour of leisure
and slowly enjoy this Sunday feast;
Perhaps loose my drawstring as you enter my rush  
push push then withdraw, push push then withdraw
I will accumulate your kisses, as you drink me in  
Oh, ...    I remember  .

Wolf is a symbol of guardianship, ritual, loyalty and spirit. Having the ability to make quick emotional attachments, it trusts their own instincts. We too should do the same, trust our hearts & minds, and have control over our lives.
When St. Francis encountered the wolf of Gubbio in 1220, he did not fear its coated fury armor and when the creature devoured animals and humans and became a force to be reckoned with, St. Francis  made the sign of the cross and went out to meet the wolf , one on one.  The crowd followed him from behind but as St. Francis entered the wolf's lair they held back,  keeping a safe distance, they could watch and not be harmed. The wolf at first rushed at Francis with open jaws. Again Francis made the sign of the cross and commanded the wolf to cease his attacks in the name of God. The wolf trotted docilely and lay at his feet. Placing his head on Francis's hands he listened to Francis:
"Brother wolf, you have killed men at the image of God, so now  you are worthy of death but if you make peace with us, we will forgive your past offences and you shall live.  The wolf bowed its head and submitted to Francis, completely at his mercy.  The wolf placed one of his forepaws in Francis' outstretched hand and the oath was made once ferocious wolf now behaved like a household pet.  Like the wolf, we too have our net worth, as compassioned  beings, capable of change.  So tell me, after reading this, where do you stand on the empathy scale ?  Are you going to help the wolf change, or are you going to watch him fail.
The End.
(when we all stand around and watch, we all lose)

In the land of fairy tales lives a tiny Pixie with golden orbs, etched in detail  
with two pointed ears and pointy hat she is untouchable like the Holy Grail
In the fairy Kingdom lives the Silvan Elf contented with all his Tolkien lore
and every tale brings laughter and flighting, in the Forest of "open doors"  
In this land of fairy tales, a gaggle of mages use elements without trail ;

Little dwarves no bigger then my thumb ducking beneath tall blades of grass
reconciliation spells by magic lanterns lit, from gold to yellow, copper, brass
Their territory and dominion is the land between the trees, while the muses
scribe, on illusionary parchment as translucent as a moon beam, they douse
the fires of reality. In the land of fairy tales only magic lives with cheeky sass

In the mind of children and the very old alike, lives a splendorous green haven
where all fears and loneliness is spoofed away, and all hunger quickly shaven
With mushrooms as tall as I, and crunch bit Cashews as big as a drop of dew,  
no one slumbers without a full tummy and a yamusical song of sweet renew
Magical moon whispers and pranksters with a lisper, they even got a raven

Flying solo in the sky, in this fantabulous land of imagination Victor, is hero.

I live in a dark stretch of land part ocean, part lava
sheer as light but opaque where the eyes meet
I am a pool of hard matter, still I appear translucent,  
when you look at me with those big brown eyes.  
Do you fancy me? Color me beautiful and find out;
I am full of helium, neon, ad hydrogen, perfumed
by methane, ammonia and carbon dioxide, ...
Do you like my silicon round, my phosphorus shine ?
I wore a sodium spritz for you, feel my magnesium
am I female/ male ? Color me  beautiful and find out;
I boast about my crust and my mantle is *******
stepping up to the plate I enhance the telescopes,  
with my sippy blue and splash of silver, I am me.    
Take your time before you X me in the box,  
I am moon cisgender to my nature, do you like ?
I am moon, all moon, equivocally endangered  
when you select a *** for me, so won't you please,
color me beautiful, no matter what hues you see.

No greater gift then the gift of love
and when given freely, its purely love
Offering oneself to others is love  
nothing else matters when we are in love
we can save a soul by one act of love
No precious gem shines more then love
no feeling in the world is more cherished then love
all the tea in China cannot drown love
It is the magic cure for all that ails, sweet love
I could not live without love
Love is my challice, filled with goodness it
Overflows with goodwill.
Verily I say onto thee,
Enlist in the army of love, and be a warrior of love
LOVE ...

It had been years since he had last seen his dad, when he lost his job,
he hardly came home.    
After many missed birthdays and graduations, he gave up on the notion of a real dad...
Years later, he found him living under a bridge, on a makeshift bed.  
He ate off a cardboard table held together by rocks and twine.  Stored his empty bottles in an old beat up cooler, filled with stale pizza.  They had words that day and he vowed to never return.  As far as he was concerned, his dad was dead...

One day he got a phone call from a nursing home saying his dad was in their care.  
He had requested a visit from him, would he please come.  He had expected many things on that day, but a clean dad with combed hair, was not one of them.
They shared a hot coffee and donut while sitting at a table.  They spoke for hours.

He asked his son to wheel him to the dresser. He gave him a card with a big blue balloon on it and a circus clown.  "Whatever happened to that little boy?"  he asked him through his tears.  
"I don't know dad, I guess he grew up" while you were elsewhere .
That night for the first time in years he slept in a dry bed with a real blanket and, a door.

Somethings he learned to live without , some things he plain threw out,
but the memory of his son's smile, that he never forgot.  " Its oka dad,
it flew up in heaven to be with mom " was his five year old reply.  
He once had a child and he abandoned him, just like a circus clown.

July 26, 2021

Oh, if only you would incline your auricle to me my dear
and walk slowly towards the wisps of my caress, your skin
cool and fresh as rain, would feel the touch of my breath
I would whisper little nothings in your shell and tell you secrets
comb your hair, kiss your face, like only a mother's love could  
I'd lift the collar off your neck and blow kisses on your nape
I'd guide you into the warm rush of air that fills your void  
I'd lay on your chest while you breathe and repeat your creed
if only you would draw your helix ear to me and listen softly
I would be your song, your poem or maybe, a tinkling chime
I'd be your constant companion and listen to you, all for free
If I were the wind on your back, I'd push you gently forward
give you so many gusts of joy you would never turn your back
If I were the wind on your face I'd make you blush with pleasure
oh, if only you would incline your ear to me, my dear,
what a proud wind I would be...

She was beautiful in a way that only nature understood
walking out into the sunlight she turned sunlight into Hyde  
raven black hair that fanned, two eyes of mesquite wood
no taller then four feet guided with a partnered girl guide

Little did I know she belonged to the day camp next door
recovering from trauma she'd been matched and supervised
all I said to her was,  " your beautiful" no less,  no more,
she froze turned around and ran, all I saw was her backside

Later I was told she had been burned and scarred by an Uncle
I assumed the word beautiful was a Stanley knife to fear  
she reminded me of a meteor rock, a magnificent Runkle
that burned very brightly as she re-entered earth's atmosphere

Oh she was beautiful  in ways only nature could not misconstrue  
truth be told I sat on a bench and cried, deep inside I felt her pain
so I painted her a butterfly so she could put it on her window pane
and at the bottom I inscribed the words, "Rolla, I love you "

July 15, 2021

A moment on the ear an opus creation without flaw  
the sound of pure laughter from a child on a see saw    
prolonged hours of ecstasy in the palm of God's hand  
the sound of the ocean on my chest and where I stand

A daffodil of yellow smiling up at me from base  
the scent of petrichor in the soil after a days rain
spectacular views from Mars or any place in outer space
just about anything that makes me laugh, insane  !

A slow and gentle kiss and poetry, from Baudelaire  
romantic dates that end with chocolate and roses
wooly socks, afghan blankets made of little squares
antiques that remind me of mom, and her neurosis

a million breaths released just after,  "I SIGH",
and all the things on my bucket list before I die.  
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2021

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh1m3vCCGdA

Black Princess of the night chin strapped to her violin
she plays the notes from her memorable heart of blue
while the moon in her sorrow spills light upon the Quin,  
she plays on, a Stradivarius interlude of thin soulful Adieu;
Arrivederci  (goodbye)
Donna (woman)
Ingannato  (deceived)
even the stars weep  under her spell as her raven changelings
scatter like black ashes to the wind
Five seasons of partings five degrees of loss, still no light
bursts forth from a soot sky of ebon black
lamentations and moans
heaven groans
from the weight of  her sorrow comes the eye of the storm
as she plays her last note of deep unrest .

It begins with the first breeze of morning across the sea shore
phonographic moments from early rising seagulls, arriving
at the edge of dawn, soaring into the blueness above
Initiating the steps to a beautiful day break the shore awakens,  
with a harmony of sounds, orchestrated to perfection by nature;
Footsteps in the sand
salted lips and hands
wet feet digging deep
while others are still asleep
Front view seat on the cool cool spot, there she sits and waits for him  
a wild chestnut horse with pony box hooves, running swift as the wind
She named him Red Beauty for the flecks of his eyes are rubies of light
in the slow rising sun.
He trots nigh away
but here she will stay
til' the sun burns inside
all the tears she has cried

It all starts with a dream, at the edge of the shore
with a girl and a horse racing right through the door
all the while the wind chimes, as the sea shells incline  
at the end of the day she goes home, just in time.

Propellent syndromes rotating with energetic drum
the winds of time begin to churn your soul begins to hum;  
Through the portal of time you go regressing, progressing
forever moving forwards, you are a tiny little string;  
Dangling at the edge of time, waiting for the big rebirth
with the sun, moon and stars hung around your girth,  
you slowly decline at the doorway of heaven's nook
and enter mothers womb as she delivers you with shook;
Ferris wheel cries cracking the silence of dusks headdress
the dawn is a blush of bruises but the eyes, oh!  the eyes
they are two luminous stars of love, here is no surprise
the old soul has done it again, thundering back in, mortal
as you once were.  Immune to taste, sight, and smell,  
a propelling syndrome rotating with energetic drum,  
the winds of time has brought you back, now hum.

June 7, 2021

Disheveled as the fingers of morning  
this sage in her sedentary stoic seat
needs no purge to enter gloaming

Ripped at the seams by eventide
with hair of finest wheat
she lingers fearless as the tide  

Dormant dreams at sundown's door
chalk faced white as sheet
she drowns, in the ocean bellied floor

taken by the shackles of her wrists
on leaden feet
she walks towards the ether, in Gist

Quote: If I tell you that I have a gem folded in the palm of my hand, the question
of belief arises, but if I unclench my fist and show you the gem, it will not...
Buddha

A Fistful Of Diamonds Or Colored Sand

A fistful of diamonds or a  handful of colored sand
God blew a breath and scattered me all over town
I don't own airborne wings I don't live in fairyland
but when I see I only see reflections of His gown

A clear cut glass edged and polished with shine
another object of valor dulls before His stars
Sotto voce, an invisible sign of His Divine
I can either accept the vision, or decline

The mayhem of  the worlds chaos just a blow
I'm soak in the reflection of His quiet calm
Spikenard anoint and flowers bloom and glow
He is my diamond in the raw my soothing balm;

A fistful of diamonds or a handful of colored sand
He's the love I crave for, in the palm of my hand.

June 29, 2021

At the font of her own misery she wept silently
beneath a parapet sky of midnight blue  
Silver stars enmeshed and softened the water
as she drew closer to the only venue of comfort
she knew, ...
Amongst the conference of moon's effulgence
lay a quiet angel listening
to the in and outs, of a sweet girl's breath
A pear shaped tear fell on her pillowed cheek
not a spark from the heavens could rouse her
not a single whisper from Jala could end
the sorrow that threatened to engulf her being ;
At the brink of disaster a healing hand reached out
softer then the caress of the breeze
gentler then the brush of wings
As she stood beneath the silver stars eyes glistening,  
she found the edge line of the water then giving it
once last glance, she turned around then jumped..

Luscinian voices in the thicket of a midnight waltz
single male birds singing from a point of solitude  
closing down on city sounds inside a forest vault  
the sound of their vocals, nightingale's prelude      

calling in mates with whistles, trills  and sounds
sending messages of longing from across the throng  
listening from cup-shaped nests, eager to be found  
they wind up feeling drawn by their melodious song  

she, awake as the dawn and free as a bird in the sky  
he, as cuffed to her beauty as  the wings on her back  
they mate on a branch as soft as a nightingale's sigh  
away from the songsters, who are trying but lack

luscinian voices singing softly of dawn's pure glory
while two nightingales share a life, and love story.    

June 11, 2021

Jesus be my light my One and only
my candle in the dark my saving lark
help me to avoid all things not Holy  

in this life be my lantern for night's dark  
so when my Grace arrives on eagle wings
I may behold the murmur of your calling hark    

you are my Faith diamonded ring      
all that I hold most dear like trust and love  
you are the Master of my puppet strings  

in you I find refuge and hope from above
you, joy of my success are my one true Love.

I was six years old, the year was 1966.  Mom left me alone in a plaza
with my one year old sister in a perambulator.  
She went inside to do the grocery and asked me to take care
of her while she picked a few items;  
Along came two teenagers.  Inching closer to the carriage they peeked inside,  
"OOOOH  she's cute, is this your baby sister ?"
The next comment froze me where I stood,    
"We are going to take her, " one of them said,    
while the other grabbed the handles of the carriage
They shoved me aside and took off.  
I was in shock but I managed to run inside.  Sobbing  I told my mom
they had stolen my baby sister ;
Mom ran out of the store and chased after them.  
They ran fast but mom ran faster with me lagging behind.  
Suddenly they got scared when they heard her yell and pushed the carriage in the middle of the road.  Mom grabbed it before a car came by,
but slashed her leg on the steel frame while saving my sister from a car.
All my life I have had an intense fear of losing someone dear
Mom and dad both are both gone now, but the memory of that day
will live inside of me forever.

A true story that happened to me.

Night roses dipped in purkinje, tendencies of blue
lost inside this dream I urge the winds to carry me
onto the hammocks of the night where antic roses lie,  
moonlit soaked and mulched aside a big blue moon ;
Festoons of flowers strung across the midnight sky
scented boutonnieres for Saints and Gods  
Angel wraps and gauzy shawls caressing softly stars
lost in a shimmer high above the sea , I am nigh
In exploration I am closing in, onto sweet allay
loosening the strings of yearn for my turtle dove  
here in home sweet heaven, timeless as a rune  
soaked in purkinje, eternally making room.

Sunflowers bloom beneath a tinted blue sky, white dollop clouds in    
Undulating fashion, hovering over yellow petals and deep golden seeds.  
Nestled in soil slim tall and beautiful, birthing cordially for the      
Floriculturist in all of us.  A wide expanse inside a garden, they    
Loom, over plants such as Gerberas,  Lilies, Carnations and Limoniums;
Open your window take in the resin scent of their lace. They are a  
Wonder of nature, a gift from Mother Earth herself.  To name a few,    
Echinacea apricot rainbow, Emilia tassel  and echinop globe thistles,
Reviving each year with renewed strength they bring us love and beauty .