Mint & Gold Poets
I bet out of all the people you know,
that she's the oldest one you love seeing!
I bet you bask in the warmth of the glow
you feel flowing from her inner being.
Her kisses? Her aura? Her embrace?
It's hard to explain her essence;
but, I bet you're in a happy place
whenever you're in her presence!
I bet her happy place is with you too,
and it doesn't matter when or where!
I bet it doesn't matter what you do;
you both cherish the time you share!
I bet there's a halo above her,
because she's been your angel from the start!
I bet that's the reason you love her;
or is it because she thinks with her heart?
I bet if you were in a fairytale
she'd be your enchanting patroness,
who instinctively shows up without fail
to rescue you when you're in distress!
I bet her love for you is strong and pure,
like that of your mom and your dad.
But unlike your parents I bet for sure,
that your angel never gets as mad!
Affectionately I bet that she'll be,
forever and a day nearby!
For I bet thinking of her turns the key,
to happy places in your mind's eye.
Foggy night, neighborhood wrapped in a dead hush,
unable to see my shaking hands, the mist danced around.
A living nightmare, black, the color of this small world,
footsteps of enthusiastic children fading off.
A haze of steaming coffee, moisture painting my silver-rimmed glasses,
the unclarity, an abode of mistrust.
A folding chair, slippery floor, the balcony fence stood in an upright position,
my arched shoulders reliving the good former times.
Sky, overcast with fear, lights had to be switched on in my room,
the trees were veiled in a fine mist.
The shadow of birds flew past me, frosted toes,
I slept away quietly.
Foggy night - - - - - - - danced around!
The Secret Stashes
I find bottles of beer, wine and
vodka all over the house, like little
bombs waiting to blow up in my face.
I’m sprawled on the couch, drunkenly
making out with some random I
picked up in a bar. I can feel
something hard and cold press
into my back. My fumbling fingers
press against a bottle of vodka,
half-drunk during a binge last weekend.
I’m rummaging around my bed
looking for some nice shoes for a night out.
I notice the box containing my
Manolo Blahnik’s stuffed into a dark corner.
I almost pop my arm out of the socket
stretching under to get the box. I open it
to find my shoes are missing, probably left
somewhere and two bottles of wine have
taken their place. One half-empty.
A week before pay-day I run out of
toilet roll. I’m sure there’s some
stashed away at the back of the cupboard
under the sink. I get down on my
knees and start to go through everything.
There’s no toilet roll but I find several
un-opened six packs of beer. They’ve
been there so long they’re thick with dust.
My secret stashes
haunt me. They’re echoes
of a life I’m trying to leave behind.