THE PHOENIX WRITES

Her energy,
A heady mix of cinnamon buns
straight out of the oven,
and Hot Chilli peppers eaten whole.

The comfort & sense of home,
Softness, love and care,
Nurturing peace and calm.

The passion of her soul
Vibrant, alive, heady and intoxicating
One look makes your cells explode,
One touch of a hand bone melting

Her energy like the wild rise of the Phoenix
Leaving you feeling exposed, vulnerable & alone.
Her body, warm, safe and soft
Is like a cool balm on the singed ashes of your psyche.

The result,
Wild confusion, mind numbing overwhelm,
And a soul awakened addiction
That keeps your running in fear,
And chasing in desire.

A chaotic roller coaster of sleepless nights,
With only one inevitable result
An ego death of full proportion
And surrender into the delightful abyss
Of the transformational power of the feminine.

The poet’s quill scribes a vision of the debutante
as she rests amongst the bluebells
Scattered like jewels over the meadow.

The delicate voice of the robins
Echo through the valley,
Where the gentleman tells of his ardor
As they shelter amongst the weeping willows.

Curls tumble from the confines of her hat,
Parasol tilting to hide girlish blushes,
Careless of her silk skirts
they are crushed, lying as broken rose petals.

She glows with the joy of an un-chaperoned picnic
Scent of cinnamon scrolls tempt her senses,
as her beau offers cider to moisten their suddenly dry throats.

Dapper in his impeccable finery,
Coat tails trailing, crisply starched shirt points lifting his chin,
Top hat tilted at a rakish angle.
Dark eye’s glinting with the thrill of his endeavors.

Sunshine silhouettes the glory of the lovers,
whom the poet has sewn together
as an artist creates a masterpiece.

Each syllable as a brushstroke on canvas.
A Monet made not of oil and brushes,
But ink and parchment.
Every word scribed by the care of the poet,
Transformed within the mind of the reader

A Friend, A Friend, What would that be
Someone who’s standing alongside me
One who would forgive and understand
The faults of every common man

A friend is someone we can love
Who’d share and care like him from above.
A friend we need not see each day
To know their thoughts aren’t far away

We need not chat for hours on end
To know that we have a true friend
But a true friend is there in thought
They’ll help us when we know not aught

They’ll lift us up when we are down
And when we’re up, they’ll jump around
A friend is fun, a friend is deep
A friend I always want to keep

A friend is one who knows we are
A friend to them, they are our star
That lights the dark, and lifts our soul
And helps us in our life’s long goal

So this my friend I long to be
A friend to you, and you my friend would be
To know that each day we would be there
For each other, to show we care

And know that two good friends would be
Just two people that care platonically
And know that even if they never spoke
They’d still be friends with that girl or bloke!

I know it must be done
I know it is no fun
My pride and courage fight
Silence broken by screams of fright!

Instructed by fashions plight
By beauty’s youthful might
I must be brave and strong
Or wear a spider long.

My personal space paraded
As by hot wax invaded
I wonder while baring lard
If out of date would be as hard

Need coffee hot and strong
Now at last all hair is gone
I fear at Thirty Four
How many years I’ll do this for.

I hope in my despair
At a hundred I’ll have no hair
Or in death my pains replaced
As the dump truck hides my face!

The hat shaded her eyes,
shielding the flirtatious sparkle
that livened her face.

It was a wide brimmed ensemble.
Black with a large pink bow.
It’s crown flat and tilted at a rakish angle.
It suggested a chick fun personality!

The eyes peeped
from beneath
with mischief and fun.
Flirting with danger
and stalling many an unwary passerby.
Leaving them heart broken
as the hat tilted again
to present a demure face,
hiding that spark of liveliness.

Oh how she used it to perfection,
taunting all those
who would succumb.
She played the game so well.
And why not?

This moment of freedom
would be short lived.
Soon she must return
to that secluded home of the sick and ailing.

The hat was her taste of freedom.
To use as she wills,
to enjoy what she can.
To forget –
just for a moment –
the pain of her illness.

Those red stiletto’s
How they turned the gentleman’s head
Made him mad with wonder
Intriguing him, drawing him
Leading him into that passion of a lifetime

Now tossed aside,
Scuffed,
dirty in the corner
Forgotten in their glory

The old lady too sat in the corner
Her glory forgotten
Once a high flyer
successful by mans standards
Her weathered face was soft
Fragile as rice paper
Her eyes stared into the distance
Remembering another time.

A time where the world was full of hope
Wonder and excitement
Challenge and success.
A world of love, and laughter
Children, and young handsome men.

Some accused her of living in the past
But that was all she had
For her future was bleak
and nearly finished.

​How foolishly we treat the elderly
As the red shoes, tossed aside
Forgotten the time when they sparkled and shined.
Once respected, listened too
Admire for beauty and brains

Now mocked
As an old waste of space
Forgetting the achievements
Forgetting

​We too will grow old
And all our hard work and successes
Those costly prices paid
Will be forgotten
​
As the red shoes
Scuffed, worn, and remembering.
Their value no less
For having lived their life.

She stood there, drink in hand
Moving her body seductively
Dancing the dance....
A smile, teased her red lips
Alluring

He stood there, drink in hand
Cool, Stoic, Handsome
He observed the girl
And others.....
In the crowded bar.

They stood there, drink in hand
A laugh, a smile, a flirt
Each portraying the joy
The illusion
Each quietly desiring what others had

Not those there.........
But those home, with their fires
Their love, their friends, their life.

Alone, they danced the dance
Played the game,
Flirted away

Alone,
in the crowded bar.
The solo pretenders