Conduit
I am a conduit
For the Light that flows through
Another node
In the connection of All.
I am instrument
Of universal energy
A carrier of Love
That flows through all.
Awake
Fairies trip across her dreams,
Wizards cast spells,
Magical creatures cavort,
Good always wins,
And love never ends.
When a child,
She believed, really..
Believed.
Even when it wasn’t logical,
She just knew.
And then she woke up.
Ninth Post: Not Tea
Not Tea
I’m English, we solve everything with a cup of tea,
I joke with a smirk as I pick up my drink.
I breathe it in, and then frown a little,
For this drink is not my tea.
Darker, stronger, but just as hot,
Pungent smell and aftertaste.
This I have tasted before –
But this is not my tea.
Another breakfast drink,
Not English by a long shot.
Full of flavour, energising for the day,
But not always my cup of tea.
Coffee
The Gods of love decided upon a blend
Its pleasures were never to end
So they brought together some cocoa
And poured on the magic flow
Its texture was that of sugar and diamonds
And all shades of espresso sent in their funds
Some browns and blacks would mate
And I would brew it at nights late
Ah! The aroma, how to explain?
The blessed earth in a deluge of rain
A dark, mystical, invigorating fragrance
A little unruly and rustic
Diligently mystic
And the taste of a warm, passionate affair
To say just bittersweet is hardly fair
For it is a fountain hot and bursting
The flavor in your mouth, slowly rusting
Each drop compassionately burning
Savor it; it is discovery and learning
With a good book, a tale or two
By the window, your drink and you
I Hate… Poem 9
I hate blank pieces of paper
Demanding to be filled
Glaring at me
Screw it
I hate cell phones
Ringing buzzing singing
day and nite
Toss it
I hate traffic
Slow moving
go no where
Someone cutting you off
Jerks
I hate long summer nights
No breeze, no sleep
Just hot sweat
Yuck
I hate long work hours
When you imagine all the fun things
You could do
Nope
I hate political coversations
Of ignorance, calamity
Conspiracy, intolerence
Hatred
I hate blank pieces of paper
Blank computer screens
Blank minds, blank points
Need sleep!
Hot Beverages
This steamy beverage keeps me conscious.
It is a little cup of comfort
On a cold, early autumn English night-
Reminiscent of baristas in sunnier climes.
I see them now. It must be daylight there,
And they are outside the cafes taking orders from tables
of tourists, or of locals who enjoy a pace of life that permits them such luxuries.
I cradle it in my hands as though holding onto a dream;
I pluck a cocktail stick and craft my own heart in the frothy topping.
Pantoum
I hear him roar
in the skies outside,
the rain dances a beat
and I know this is it.
In the skies outside
the lightening lights up,
and I know this it,
this is where it ends.
The lightening lights up
the darkened skies.
This is where it ends,
With the trumpets blaring.
The darkened skies
Awaken the slumber
with the trumpets blaring
and with a swirling of winds.
“Awaken the slumber!”
I hear him roar.
And with a swirling of winds,
the reign dances a beat.
Quelling Adenosine
Elixir of awakening, water of life
Smokey essence of synaptic ecstasy.
The scent of the grind, the sound of perculative bliss
Oh, how I love your chemistry.
To wrap my hands on ceramic clad heat,
The scented steam tickles olfactory
And the quaff of velvet smoothness
Engenders alert faculty.
Good morning!
© 2014 D. Edward Croy
The Fountain- Poem #8 by Ingrid – Half Marathon
The Fountain- Poem #8 by Ingrid Exner- Half Marathon
The fountain in the park holds memories.
Dressed ornately in black,
This dark statue of hope
Brings comfort to many.
Laughing children run circles around its base
As the adults lean closer to the cooling mist
Of its waters.
Spilling over in delight
Excitement uncontained,
A timeless treasure of days
Gone by.
All Beauty
Hour 9 – 2:00 PM
Spiritual work takes me high.
Afloat and lifted,
starring the Devil in his eye.
As confident as I am.
I know he is a lie.
How can there be a place worse than this.
An earth so corrupt; Hell in disguise.
Many are blind to see..
He’s manipulated a place where all beauty seems to cease.
– J.C. ©