“Speak, so that I may see you.”
Forged relationships; framed steel cornices
Rebar cement in a foundation of alliances.
Neighbors, family, friend or acquaintances
That together, help hammer provision’s anvil –
Two iron beams better than one as its candle
If one falls the other carries aloft safety’s angle.
If possible, a threefold alliance a better tether,
Its climbing molten vines a hardened anchor,
In life’s forged crucible of stormy weather.
“There’s a lesson in every silence.”
― Aniekee Tochukwu Ezekiel
Feline patrols the alley way,
At first, some thought a stray,
A fluorescent collar in crimson glory.
Street-wise to neighborhood jungle traffic,
Crossing at night in stealth at the crosswalk,
As cars stop for her fashion runway catwalk.
Her midnight charcoal coat flatters,
Her luminescent pink collar choker.
Her bright accessory a token of love
No doubt, from her owners beloved,
Gifting her nine lives of birthdays
As purchase for longevity in Felidae.
Gels the action:
Chows and Confit
Spreads and jelly.
Pitted fruit meet
The stone remover.
In ornate jars
Like antique cars
Wave checkered flags.
Enshrine winter cellars
In sweet homemade jars.
– Inspired by a news report in the metropolitan city where I live, that currently, there is an unprecedented shortage of household canning and preserving supplies (jars, lids, pectin etc.)
“Oh my sweet Saturday,
I have been waiting for you for six long days”
― Charmaine J Forde
“It takes a very long time to become young.”
― Pablo Picasso
Autumn; Winter waits every year to see her,
His persona attracted to her warmed temper.
But she arrives before him, often not by much,
And, exits on winged Demeter’s pumpkin patch.
His chivalric quest, epic as that of Sir Gawayne,
He plies her with gifts near the Etruscan plain,
They vanish like ice cubes in late monsoon rain.
He pines in the pines staring at her exiting flora,
Quizzing each falling leaf in his sub-zeroed aura,
Asking, “she loves me…she loves me not…she loves…”
As they smile into snowflakes on his crystal gloves.
He peeks into farmer’s barns scouring their stores,
For gourds, gold trinkets for her cornucopia shoes.
He dreams of times when they could be together,
Cozying on those cold melting nights by the fire.
But alas she always slips away before he arrives,
Her scepter, the key opening seasonal doorways;
Unlocks Winter solstice after she takes her leave.
“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water … Instead you relax, and float.”
― Alan Wilson Watts
In this an open letter
To the invisible darkness
In the realms of spiritual wickedness
In the kingdom circling the cosmological
Offspring of the heavenly Creator
Circling like a lion to see whom to invite as dinner.
Let it be known today…
That we know – by all that has been written
In the sacred texts written
Before our ancestry –
We know...that we are NOT prey.