Finding my line is all well and good

but it does not help to flood

my lungs with the oxygen I so desperately need

to feed my blood

so I can soar away from the pain and succeed

rather than bleed and sink gasping

grasping for some hope and some sign

of a glorious descent

and the line drawn by another

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The culinary nest of delight

I was going to write a poem

but where do you start to depart

from fact to Facebook fiction

from the fact that your kitchen

deviates from the public depiction

of a culinary nest of delight

rather it resembles scrambled

celebrity scroungers of the night

with the delicate aroma

of napalm in the morning


Summer showers pass, the fast does not last,

Except for the poor straying souls that starve;

Still expected to remedy the past

Misdemeanours they did not themselves carve.

Reluctant to release its fiery nip,

Autumn holds onto its cold, brazen frost;

Occasional thaws calm a brittle tip,

Anxiety leaves as red trees count the cost.

Deep winter blankets cushion, howls and blows,

Comfort drawn from the store is forgiving.

The starry visitation comes and goes,

We remember that life is worth living.

Spring, oh at last, does bring ample bounty;

Time to feast – fruit released from its beauty.