Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.

Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.

The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.

We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.

Walk on our own, on our own two feet.

And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.

When I close my eyes what I see are the mountain valleys
And trees covered with snow
All around me the only sign of civilization are the ski villages
And the air smells like fire in a chimney
With a hint of hot chocolate and waffles at every turn.
I feel myself secluded on the top of one of those mountains
In a cottage covered in snow
Breathing in the fresh mountain air
Cold but only enough that it’s the coziest feeling in the world to come inside to the warmth.
Nothing but inspiration flows in these winds up here
I am as weightless as the thin air this high
And as soft snow falls it consumes me
Until I start and end with the mountain and the sky.

But I blink, and suddenly warm tropical sun is hitting my bare shoulders
White sand resembling snow, but the resemblance stops there
Because these tropical waters are alight with colors other than white and brown and green.
The ocean waves match my hair
And my freckled skin is kissed by the sun in such a way that I swear I belong here forever.
There’s the taste of mojitos in my mouth
And the smell of a scuba mask covering my nose.
Under the water is another world,
One I have never felt so close to
With sharks and corals and fish that all seem to be in such perfect balance
There’s nothing else in the world that matters but the sea and the sun and the sky.

I’m disarmed for a second by the rush of loud noise I at first think are the crashing waves
But then the shrill of a car horn caries and I realize that my feet have shoes on them once again
And they’re touching asphalt.
I look up at the buildings all around me
And though the air isn’t as fresh here,
There’s something to be said about the pretzels in the air
And the car fumes
And the smell of the pavement after the rain.
There’s so much noise, but it beats in time with my heart
And the swell of it all alights my excitement.
There is no place I’d rather be, not in this moment.
My thoughts are as abundant and high-reaching as the buildings all around me
And there’s a world of possibilities that seem to have been awoken in me as I stepped into this city.

The roar of the cars comes to a halt
And all I can hear is the wind though the fields.
My mind, for the first time in a long time,
Has nothing left in it.
I lay here, surrounded by nothing but flat land
Dotted by small white houses
With broken down brown barns to their left,
And stare up at the rolling clouds in the sky.
I don’t know where I am or where I’ve come from
All I know is that one cloud looks like the head of a lion
And the one next to it like a fox chasing his tail.
The wind softly tugs at my hair,
But I’m not cold in the breeze,
And it seems to be a part of me as much as I am a part of this field as I lie here.

Day turns to night quickly, and I’m suddenly looking up at the splattering of the nebulas.
It’s incredible. I’ve never been so close, here on the mountaintop.
I swear that if I reach high enough, I’ll be able to grab one and put it in my pocket. I don’t know why I’m so afraid to try.
The soft waves break against the shore, and there’s something magnificent about the way the ocean reflects the sky
So two dazzling displays are visible,
Working together. One stands unmoving aside from the planes that shoot across it
But the other ripples and flows, ever-moving, never-stopping.
Then I look up and there’s a haze of lights
Some stars, some planes, some just windows from buildings,
But it’s the city that never sleeps
And the stars are brilliant whether artificial or natural,
I feel each one splattered across the insides of me.
I lay here in the field,
Awake but fast asleep
More stars than I’ll ever see in my life spread out before me
And I suddenly feel smaller than ever,
This mortality that I am faced with is hammered into me by the brightness and abundance of all the stars in the sky.
I wonder who I am again,
Wonder how I got myself here,
On this mountain,
On this beach,
In this city,
In this field,
But I cannot find the through-line,
Not in this maze of constellations
And so I stop questioning for just a moment
And instead close my eyes and let my heart decide which way it wants to be pulled tonight,
And the stars oblige.

I can walk
this world,
tall or short,
figure one or figure eight,
black or white
has long as my word is on everyone's lips,
has long has i top the gossip list.
              
Fame,
name
all the same.
Money,
folly
all making me naughty.
            
Pleasure,
leisure
all in my ATM treasure.
            
Screams,
dreams
all over the TV screens.
          
I vanish
and smear my ego with a gold polish.
Taking a break, i call it.
              
I could snap my fingers in an empty room
and in an instant it becomes a party room.
          
I walk
through the storm,
cloth the sun,
re-decorate the night sky.
I'm in the world
i'm breathing
and i'm famous.
        
What is the point in not bragging?
When my style isnt manual.
        
What is wrong with being sick in the head,
when ranking makes you un-stable:
most expensive car,
most craziest style,
most funkiest hair,
most hottest chick,
most coziest house,
most expensive jewelleries,
most socially active,
most drunkest driver,
most party crasher,
most grammy receiver...
        
It never stops
till your hand drops
and suddenly the light leaves your eyes
and your heart takes to retirement.
        
The flesh
forgets to carry with it
all it had acquired.
The Grave shuts the stink.

Drink up dear children, we have a long way to go. Tuck your hopes into these boots along with your pant legs; it will keep you warmer than the coziest fleece socks ever could.

Wear this wool with you until you hear the kettle cry. It will serve you well to stay within this wisdom.

These beaded braids breathe more than stories. I have enough wit within them for us all to share.

Take the time to tread in the springs before you leave. The sulfur does more than clear the sinuses.

Remember your name while you trek the ice and keep home in your heart as the salmon.

They cheered it in to the inn
It didn’t understand it was dazed
For nine months it was unused to din
Their celebrations left it amazed.
It was afloat in the coziest darkness
Fed on the fluid of its host
The light now brought tears to its face
And they welcomed it with a toast.
Thoroughly washed the cute little swan
Couldn’t fathom the new begotten space
Yet it sought the warmth of just one
Looked from many for one face!
Its face made her forget the tearing pain
In making way for the blob of her blood
Gushed out from her a joyous fountain
She was carried away in a torrential flood.

Silent winter nights enveloped in fog ...
Clouds Of smoke puffing out of the mouth,
& the only noise you hear is the cold breeze that whiffs past your skin sending a chill down your spine..reminding how cold a place this world can be..and not even being in the coziest rooms or bagging up in the warmest quilt can help..the heart, frozen cold.. the ashes from the embers of the  dying flame flies...all it wants is to be wrapped up in a warm hug to resurrect its faith in coziness of love..

and days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
in this cold
i could see your           breath
and our bodies
wouldbecloser.
for the warmth,
of course.
your glove fingers
wouldn't fit into
my mitten hands
so you would
put yours
in
my
pocket.
on days like this
i miss you more
than any other.
this time,
on
any other day
we would be
sipping       hot     hot
coffee
and making jokes
about our past.
we would
probably
make a fire
if we had remembered
to get wood.
if not,
we would gather
all the blankets
sleeping bags
and quilts
we owned
and would make
the greatest
coziest
blanket fort
on record.
days like that
are ones I miss.
and it's hard
that today is
not that day.

It's mid-september and fall will officially be here in a few days. You wake up on a Saturday after just the right amount of sleep. You're the first one awake. You walk to the bathroom and when your feet touch the tile, they're actually cold. You bask in this because you haven't felt cold in what seems like years. This summer was brutal and relentless. But your feet are cold now. So after the bathroom you go back into your bedroom and put on some warm socks and slip on your coziest pair of leggings. You feel goosebumps forming on your arms so you also pull on a sweater you haven't worn in months. You decide to check the weather on your phone - 52 degrees, 14% humidity. You feel a brief yet overwhelming sensation of joy as you smile to yourself. You walk into the living room and look out the window. You think about how soon the world will be inundated in burnt oranges, dark reds, and crisp yellows. You prepare the drip coffee maker for the first time in a while. It's been too hot to drink anything other than something cold. The machine stutters for a moment then soon fills the room up with that incredible smell. You pour the coffee into a large mug and it warms your fingers. You hold the mug a little tighter as you look out the window again. The sun is still making it's way into the sky and it seems more pleasant than it has in a while.The air is still and there are no clouds needed to hide the intensity of the sun which finally seems to want to allow the world to breathe. You take your first sip of coffee. It's warm going down and you feel transported to the future - looking in on yourself as you experience contentment.

the lumberjack handles his axe
delicately
rolling it over in his fingers
like a gambler itching to make the bet
adrenaline saturating his sweat.

the anticipation lingers
until
a slight trace of malevolency
breaks free from his tips
parched for a place
to quench his needs
where no one succeeds.

the desire for release
achieved in complete ease
a snap!
and all your woes fade away
as your sanity dismantles into decay.

derived from the ever close disease
that sulks temptingly
behind the coziest fleece
that couldnt be banished
by even the sludgiest grease.

life would be better off
without its persistance
tugging at his cloth.


everyday shows a new way.

be smart about how you want to play.

For you, my one and only,
I like you more and more,
the way your hand fits into mine,
and leads me to my classroom door.

For you, my one and only,
I'm falling more and more,
the coziest and tightest hugs,
I ever do adore.

For you, my one and only,
I love you more and more,
your tender, gentle kisses,
leave me wanting more.
(i.s.)

while falling asleep and practicing being vulnerable
she came across her doublest of entendres:
the stone cold ***** had already made amends
but kept her flatline on low-profile
as to not relive &
as to not regret
    (so to speak, so to forget...)  
the lowlife suffered a pay rise      
and her stomach turned on its head,
the secrets to the feelings between them
were only audible in the coziest of beds
the peeping tom has been baffled
by the mesmerised gazes of her trustworthy men
the unexpected loving family was,
   in fact,
all hers to present in the end.

That calm feeling that washes over me
while the sound of rain lulls me to sleep

The charge of light
As I gaze at the moon

The coziest snuggle
Like three extra layers

The sweet bite of chocolate
On my most painful of days

The relaxing ease
Of no wrong choices

The freedom to be
Whoever I want to be

A strong and sturdy tree
When I need shade and protection

I often say I Love You,
More than words could ever say

This is my feeble attempt,
If you ever need to know,
What you are to me.

One day I want to write sweet love letters again.
One day I want to find those words again.
One day I want to feel them again.
One day I want to not fear them again.
The world, the want, the person, the feelings.
I love you and I hate you.
But your memories are sad as suffocating as the most coziest blanket I’ve ever known.

You will always wrap/write my heart with our  past.

Its still the best place in the world
Where you can reach anytime, curled
It's as close as can be
It isnt much too far , you see!
It's where you can stay without a care
You could just walk in with feet bare.
Here is the one place where there is no fear
Where you find pure love, crystal clear..
Tis the warmest, most coziest place
You can reach it even with a covered face
You think of it whenever you cry
And the mere thought makes your tears dry
Its fragrance takes you back to yonder days
As if you had known it always..
Its lighting is oh so right
You cant but help hug tight..
The best part is , over there its always day..
a mother's caress.. is just a smile away...

Van Gogh's: Yellow House

was one of the coziest dwellings

of all time.

everything was touched with a

warmth, not to mention his

brilliant usage of Japanese

print coloration.