I Am

I am
all that I speak of.

A mango not ripened and
a black orchid kissed
with the scent of
tragedy.

Rust-bitten bracelets
entwined with grass,
beads worn and
emeralds chipped.

Elbows painted with
acrylic, oil,
watercolour.

My masterpiece -
your mess.


I spent months wandering,
seeking violet webs
that strung me together,

with a butterfly net
who caught February,
once, twice,
three times?

I am the ones who speak of
your presence nibbling
at their heels
and the loose piece of
hair that escapes
my braid.

The comedy mask,
splattered with mud.

A Pollock creation,
Confused - abrupt.

I am.

Poem's Kiss

A Poem's kiss
Flows from my pen
To your heart
Lingering, longing
As a silent embrace
Though we're apart

Our words touch
As lips, softly searching
Verses thrill the soul
Separation of One
In lonely sky blue
Until we are whole

Sorrows in stanzas
Writ with abundance
As tears frozen in time
Deep and lonely
'Til ocean is river
And you become mine

White Orchid

A white orchid blossoms
on a warm summer day,
so pure and exquisite,
the hint smell of vanilla.

As the rare flower blooms,
its astonishing beauty flourishes.
Delicate to hold, yet its triumph
is its strength on the inside.

The elegant white orchid
grows in moist soil
but what occurs - when -
water exposure decreases?

As the unique flower wilts,
it loses its grace and beauty.
Like any dying organism,
The orchid will cease to exist.