Eleven Seeds: A Poetry Collection
Just for Fun
Dishes
I have to do the dishes again
I try to escape, but never win
Soap, suds, crumbs galore
Aching fingers scrub no more
I hired a bot
Who saw my pile
And told me screw off
Ironic enough!
Then I hired a maid
Who had to be paid
So sadly, sent her on her way
I stared at the bubbly mountain
And sighed, tried, and cried
Mixing dawn with my tears
And said “I have to get out of here”
Retail therapy was the only way
So I hit the road, the dishes can wait
I went to the store, and saw a sign
“Cleaning Isle”, yellow gloves shined
This is it! This is the way!
Ugh. Self check out delayed
Took all my dimes to the next lane
“Thank you ma’am, these are quite a nice shade”
Smile gleamed, inspiration for my sink
Came home to my chore
“Man, this isn’t as hard as I think!”
I do not own the rights to the image above.
Love
Wants vs Needs
I made a list of wants
I made a list of needs
You made an appearance on both
No surprise to me
I’m Not Trippin’
Imagination
Derealization
I have vivid dreams
I love fantasies
Is this as it seems
If I want it to be?
Paradise caught me like the flu
I’m falling into you
Open the door
I’m not hallucinating anymore
Happy Ending
I once wrote:
“I want to dream of being loved the way I love, and never wake up.”
Pinch me. No—
Kiss me!
For dreams do come true.
My knight in shining armor;
how long I’ve waited for you!
I do not own the rights to the image above.
Sunday Snowfall Synopsis
Let the snowfall dance
This Sunday afternoon
The flakes move in sync
Much like me and you
Wind sings to midday light
Reminds me of the sigh
Let out before you laugh
The sound that gets me high
Mother Nature paid attention
to snowfalls intricate design
Much like god did
painting your pearly whites
Winter will defrost
Then we will have spring
One thing will hold true
Oh, the joy you’ve brought to me!
Death
Arum Lily
Petals outstretched in the dead of night
The Arum Lily has bloomed to life
Those around her begin to wither
They know that when her beauty beckons
They must draw the big red curtains
I do not own the rights to the image above.
Tornado
Bright white lightning rips through the sky
Beckoning thunder and tornado sirens sing a slow lullaby
An eery stillness fills the air
But still, there’s an intense beauty in this natural disaster
Just like that it’s over
Down comes the rain
Then a bittersweet rainbow
Shadow
It follows us like a shadow on a sunny day
Condolences sent out in tired envelopes
Like a contagious case of the flu
My friends wear black clothes and frowns
I want to get out of line
I like my bright pink scarf
and the smile on my face
I begin to wonder…
If it follows us like a shadow on a sunny day
When will it start to rain?
I do not own the rights to the image above.
Life
The Good and The Bad
It’s raining flowers
I’m so joyous
Everything is falling together
Just as it falls apart
My tears water the vibrant future that lies ahead
Nothing that feels bad stays that way
It paves a way
So,
thank you to the trials and tribulations
Without you there would be no celebrations
Dementia
Mason Jar of Memories
She lost all her forget me nots
In a sealed jar across the pond
It sits with the crickets who chirp at night and the lightning bugs that illuminate the glass just right
She remembers little, but the memories are still there
Sealed with love, handled with care
Her first kiss with her husband, the first farm house she grew up in, her first child then grand children, the smell of whacky cake in the oven
Sweet happenings that happened to her don’t become less special when she can’t remember
That mason jar across the pond speaks tactfully to her soul
Reminding her through a feeling as real as her game of dominos
She’s there. Every part of her. Her memories folded up nicely
Written in cursive handwriting, that mason jar sealed tightly
To keep her memories safe and close
How lucky is she, to get to live with the memory she loves most
I do not own the rights to the image above.
Story Time
The Sweetest Dream
Each day I pray for it to be night, so that I may once again be swept away where my whimsical dreamland loves to take me most. I crawl into my circle-shaped satin bed that smells of lavender and a subtle yet distinct scent of morning dew, as dawn makes its brink—because that’s much like the world I travel to when I sleep.
I flutter my eyes—not once, but twice, making my lashes dance like fluffy blades of grass catching the wind in an open field. My golden brown hair rests gracefully on my violet-hued pillow, which is stuffed with dandelion seeds and secrets from my dreams.
I lay my hands over my chest, interlocking my fingers as if I’m holding on tight for the journey ahead, that of which lies in my imaginative head. I begin counting sheep until they grow wings; a claymation cartoon now, everything seems. I see me outside of myself, as beautiful and wondrous as ever. I take flight on the nearest sheep and drift gracefully into my sleep.
The colors of the world have a new palette, and what were clouds have been replaced by iridescent bubbles bobbing in a lavender-painted sky. Kitty-cats with soft paws are napping in the newfound clouds, and the vibrations from their pleased purrs are massaging my entire clay body with every shifty yet graceful move I make.
Ahead of me lies a path of pink poppies, surrounded by a grove of weeping willows with notably gilded leaves competing for attention in the sunlight. A hue I’ve never seen before, one I didn’t know was possible.
The willows hold hands and sing me enticing songs, their gilded leaves nudging against each other as if saying, “She’s here, she’s finally made it!” I follow my heart and their song, my bare feet frolicking through the pillow-soft, pale pink grass. I realize I’ve never felt more at home, understanding why the willows weep—because they’re so starstruck to see me.
Lying on a velour lily pad in a pond of sweet dreams, I realize this is a place I can travel to more easily than I think. My fingers remain interlaced, just as they were before my REM voyage began. My two worlds are only as different as I allow them to be.
A big green frog plays a song for me on a violin, and I ask him to grant me one wish. Perching on a moss-covered rock, where he decided to join my company, he tilts his head as if to say, ‘Well, go on.’
With my knees now on the lily pad, I look down into the water and see my reflection staring back at me. Beautiful and ethereal as ever, but just one thing is missing. I look up at Mr. Frog and gently request, “Give me wings.”
Before my eyes, I transform. Iridescent wings unfurl from my shoulder blades, an itch I hadn’t realized needed to be scratched. They curl at the ends, naturally tapered like ancestral-worn lace. My reflection starts to move, drifting very, very far away.
I awake to the sun kissing my face and jump out of my aura-filled bed. Trotting the four steps to my mirror, I see my reflection and smile. Suddenly, my back begins to itch—a familiar feeling—and she smiles at me too.
I do not own the rights to the image above.