Spice is Nice:
Spirit, Love, Meditation and Self-Improvement
A Poem
I am a writer, nevertheless,
I write, I may
not be the best
with words.
My expression is for all.
I must confess, I write with my heart, for all it is,
I will be distraught if not to give all I got.
Expressions have come and gone,
many a day, hidden within me.
Seasons have passed, time moves
fast, on and on, each day anew.
Each day, new changes. Each year
differently unique to you. Natural
routines exist, or shall the shadow
of stale manners allow you to wallow
in your hollow? With marshmallows,
cocoa and crème cakes. Farts and
fakes are what bad habits make.
Whole
and
fractured,
we all be
individually
wholesome.
The solution I see,
evolution to me.
A quest with zest,
twisty testy embrace,
unbeknownst to me,
an evaluation I see -
chaos & turmoil,
foil and coil,
met with
discipline and direction,
flittering attractions,
instruction with alacrity,
creates leaping
fashions of
compassion and honesty.
A gabfest,
a traverse complexity,
the tenacious Odessy,
a remarkable fable.
Quantum,
radiant philosophy -
a chance, maybe
a dance with no prance.
A waltz contains no faults,
a trail has no fail,
and a joke for some folk
about a cow with no tail.
Jokes have no sails with
no strange tales
that misty air tells.
Honest policies
keep integrity
intact, leading to
conscientious festivities.
“To trust with respect
is to graciously infect.”
~ UNKNOWN
Fonts that flaunt,
flaunts that taunt,
fonts that taunt as
well as a haunt.
Taunting the fonts that
skim across my screen.
Squirming at new terms,
chirping and tapping,
flittering and flapping,
my heart yearns to learn.
Tapping, trickles, sipping
a happy environment.
The keys clack,
seeds planting,
daylight fleeting,
my eyes seething,
at the teasing of
squeezing in midnight
hours, growing into flowers.
Birds gather, hereafter,
in treetop nests, while
flopping frogs are about,
lounging upon the dragonflies.
Nighttime stalking, prey talking
deep in an eerie midnight wood.
Trees dancing, grass swaying with
the forceful fresh air blowing
through them. Wind blows
through the fields and valleys,
forests and mountains.
Once the dark is upon us,
critters give fright in the night.
Out of their cave come the bats
to feast in the dark parts.
At the height of the night,
a bat has a snack in sight.
The bats come out for snacks,
so hold onto your hats.
Over the valley, in a trolly,
there is folly. Dredge lies
under the bridge, like what
has been left in the fridge.
The chill in the air remains
fair. While the quails, oh,
they wail for the hunter is here.
Lead the way to the quay,
my ship sets sail at once,
away from the shore, away
from the quay. If I may say
my seaside travel will unravel
a hidden mystery of secrecy.
Oh, what a bore
do those chores,
eat a bite or two,
work hard, love well,
stay responsible,
focus on
an errand or more.
To the store and back,
to fill the fridge,
just a smidge,
pick up that duster,
extra dusting,
here and there,
staying still, I watch
the dust spread; I fret.
I met crawling
empty cobwebs
along the attic walls
where critters hid.
In the closet,
we grab a broom
to sweep
the floors as
we jaunt the halls.
Watch the walls
for cobwebs,
those spider beds,
those that crawl,
lurking and sprawling among the halls.
Oh, no more, please.
I tease as you play
with wildflowers,
lilacs, daisies, and
those daffodils too,
as you stay in your
garden true.
Which was made
just for you.
Oh, my dear,
you sore, above all clouds.
A truth-filled heart.
Your purity rings true.
Your strength is wisdom,
honour your virtues,
and you also can stand true.
About the Creator
Andrea Estrada
I am a young, generous and optimistic individual. I love reading with imagination and writing with passion.
We share friendship and wellness, love and connection, imagination and emotion by envisioning, creating, writing and sharing stories.
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