Cognitive decline
follows chronic emotional neglect
Said the curious student
to teachers of dogma
Said the silenced sage
to muted musicians
Said the silenced voice
to the petrified dancer
Said the theologian
to exhausted bodhisattvas
Said the frustrated ecologist
to traumatized wiccan worshippers
Said the gospel sympathizer
to Old Testament victimizers
Said the scientific systems reformer
to irreligious deformers
Said the green-caste revivalist
to the caste abolishionist
Crown chakra abuse
follows root chakra neglect
because
Root chakra ignore
follows Crown chakra adore
Because my cognitive ethos decline
follows our chronically traumatized
eros neglect
As my disillusion
follows Earth's disempowerment
Re-cognizing humane ethotic decline
follows chronic divine erotic neglect
Not empowering transformation
not enlightening communication's
authentically engaging restoration
Intellectually sagacious incline
following polyamorously amusing
compassion.
Quieten mind and gentle the senses,
focus animated, poised in the void,
living in the now, not in past tenses,
no longer by stuporous thoughts decoyed,
shining as the Self, pure and unalloyed.
Let this then be the practice we adopt,
living authentically as we ought.
No more waiting for a cue,
I step into the spotlight, the script unwritten but mine, the hero of my own unfolding story.
The plot twists are mine to navigate, the victories mine to celebrate. When doubt knocks, I answer with courage; when fear whispers, I roar with resolve. My story is vibrant, raw, and relentlessly mine.
So watch me rise, watch me write, watch me live fully—because this is my tale, told boldly and beautifully, every step a declaration: I am the main character of my life.
I hold the pen; I craft the narrative that defines who I am.
I make is a verse in my poem, every step a line in my script. The plot twists? I write them
This story is mine to own—no extras, no understudies. I speak loud, act bold, and live with purpose because being the main character means walking forward with courage, carving my path with confidence.
I am more than just a player in life’s theater—I am the author, director, and hero all at once. This is my story, and I’m ready to live it fiercely, unapologetically, and authentically.
No more waiting for a cue,
I step into the spotlight, the script unwritten but mine, the hero of my own unfolding story.
The plot twists are mine to navigate, the victories mine to celebrate. When doubt knocks, I answer with courage; when fear whispers, I roar with resolve. My story is vibrant, raw, and relentlessly mine.
So watch me rise, watch me write, watch me live fully—because this is my tale, told boldly and beautifully, every step a declaration: I am the main character of my life.
I hold the pen; I craft the narrative that defines who I am.
I make is a verse in my poem, every step a line in my script. The plot twists? I write them
This story is mine to own—no extras, no understudies. I speak loud, act bold, and live with purpose because being the main character means walking forward with courage, carving my path with confidence.
I am more than just a player in life’s theater—I am the author, director, and hero all at once. This is my story, and I’m ready to live it fiercely, unapologetically, and authentically.
WHAT I LOVE-WHAT I HATE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PART I
love fiery sunsets bleeding amber and rose--
mountains, valleys, seas, and heaven softly meet
above horizon, molten coin dips and glows
world wades into warm, slumber--gentle and sweet.
you stood beside me, your hand embracing mine
daylight bled, transforming into liquid wine
clouds caught fire, gradually turned to ash—
dusk descended—our silence spoke what words can't match
&&&&&&&
PART II
chaos erodes the labyrinth of my mind,
a fierce ravenous beast that gnaws at the planned.
I hate its claws—untamed, malicious, unkind—
destroying the flawless blueprints in my hand.
I crave the calm, tranquil hum of ordered grace,
a steady rhythm amidst earth's frantic pace,
calculated steps, the path both clear and known,
cadence deeply set, authentically grown.
I Want To Be
Better Than I Am
All Of The Time.
At Something Or
In Some Way
Like If It Really
Matters... Stop.
No One Can Read
That Phrase Right
Like I Mean It...
It's Just A Disclaimer,
Anyway, You Still
Can't Read It Right.
Nevermind That Part.
Anyway...
But You Have To
Choose A Category,
You Know...
A Perspective...
No.
**?
Not In Any Way
You Mean, Anyway...
It's Authentically Absolutely My Choice
No Matter What! What "Better" Means To Me.
It's Just A Word, You Know.
Settle Down.
-Gray Squirrel
09-26-2026
Inspired by... Love
Love is the answer
By Michelle Morris
17/08/2025
Love is the answer
It is always the answer
Even when we forget
Even when we're confused
Look around you
Notice where the peace is missing
Notice where the communication is off
Notice where we live past each other
What we need is to connect
What we need is to delete ego
What we need is our humanity
What we need is grace and humility
More compassion and honesty
Kindness and empathy
Showing up authentically
Giving a hand where needed
Community rather than isolation
A smile instead of a frown
Patience instead of anger
Truly listening and understanding
Because we are all connected
We are all one in spirit
No matter the perceived differences
Our atoms are from the same source
So learn to love yourself
Learn to love others
Learn to be part of the greater good
For your soul knows love is everything
Love is the answer
It is always the answer
Love is our legacy
For our souls' eternal salvation
© Michelle Morris, 2025
All Importance 123
All Our Dreams And Musings
Imagination's Passions…
Spin And Sway And
Make Our Day So Many
Ways Refreshing.
But Reality Insists
It’s More Important:
HEAR
LOOK
LISTEN
SEE
FEEL…
Authentically.
It Happen, Happens, Happened.
Yes, It Did
And Does.
So Reality More Than
Imaginary Desire!!!
Fire Away!!!
And THEN Whatever
Is More Important
Than That.
Don’t Miss A Step.
-Gray Squirrel
07-28-2025
As we sit and type and stare at our screens.
At times we wonder what all of this means?
With our mouse we roam through poems like a maze.
Looking for something worthy of our praise.
We write of our hopes and tell of our woes,
Most of the time, not knowing where it goes.
We wait for the views and comments to see.
We try to share thoughts authentically.
Friendships begin with people we don’t know.
Some will flourish and continue to grow.
We freely give hugs and our blessings too,
And even sent soup mail to just a few.
Why is it on screen we can be so bold?
Telling our secrets that we’ve never told.
Why do we share the deep thoughts on our minds?
Others can see in through our opened blinds.
We have things to say and feel that we must.
So, we open our hearts to friends we trust.
To Poetry Soup friends, my family,
I have found the place where I’m meant to be.
Be who you are
Not what others want you to be
Your life is not theirs
It is yours ….so live it authentically!
What if ghosts aren’t the apparitions that give us chills
Maybe they are the purest form of self
Maybe that’s why we see them with fearful eyes
We’re too afraid to be ourselves
So, we exist in the matrix of the dazed in confused
Will you ever jump from the person you pretend to be
If you ever do, you'll learn to breathe within moments, because;
To live authentically is to love fully
p.s. when you dive into the center of your heart, the world sees ghosts…
I recall the day tears fell for you, Pleading for your stay, futile, true. Yet you departed, leaving me to surrender, Broke me, changed me, a fate I'd render.
Thank you for not lingering in doubt, For in your absence, I found my route. Disguised in wrong, I acquiesced, But in your leaving, strength coalesced.
For in your absence, I learned to see, To accept, to be, authentically me. All that seemed normal, right, in guise, I learned to discern truth from lies.
Thank you for your final choice, Placing both our happiness in voice. No longer solely yours to claim, A mutual joy, free from blame.
No regrets, for you were not in vain, But my greatest lesson, my lasting gain. Thank you for putting me first, at last, No more shadows of a haunting past.
No regrets, for in each twist of fate, God's plan revealed, albeit late.
GOODBYE, MY LOVE
The best of this life is being fully seen
Value which few have authentically mined
Failed conception of what real desires mean;
Hearts roaming with each other, thoughts undefined
I wished with new penny; an investment keen
Represents the best showing of humankind
Beguiling two fish swimming in coyest fountain
Fed by water deep inside a loves mountain
I walk down life’s road
All to see and to be
To bear my alloted load
To give for free or to charge a fee
To pen every masterful ode
As authentically as can only be me
To see and to be seen
To learn and to teach
To be apprentice and to be dean
To bequeath and to reach
That the shine and sheen from where I’ve been
May inspire each and herald a good preach
To do good and to faint not
Is not without the temptation to be weary
To painstakingly write to then blot
Be far from my schedule and diary
Never to tell of only how close I got
But to enter my rest truly and surely
To eat of the good of the land
To match the seasons with readiness
To increase as the grains of sand
In Godliness, in count, in business
And that mastery stays in head and hand
A second nature so effortless
To keep my mind on my matter
And where it matters others to mind
To stay clear of the chatter meant to flatter
And seek what is virtuous to find
And only wisdom and life to utter
That it may be well where I opined
K. Muitherero
How might I replicate your verse with deceit,
Claiming ownership, a fraudulent feat.
The sentiments woven, not from my core,
A stolen melody, a hollow encore.
How do I connect to the sunset's gold,
When purloined treasures in my hands unfold?
In the radiant daylight, brazen and bright,
I pilfer your wealth, devoid of true light.
How might I borrow your emotions, a theft so bold,
Claiming them as mine, when the pain's not been told.
Loneliness wrapped in borrowed lines divine,
A counterfeit connection, a deceptive design.
How do I profess love with words not authentically mine,
Desire and yearning from another's line?
Expressing affection, a counterfeit show,
In someone else's verses, my feelings won't grow.
How could I snatch your art, a precious display,
When the sentiments painted, not mine to convey.
In the misty rain, your love I'd feign,
Yet only fog in my mind's windowpane.
How might I borrow, and not call it thine,
A snippet of work, claiming it's mine.
Yet with proper reference, an ethical find,
Admiring your craft, no plagiarism behind.
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