The Perfume Bottle
The perfume bottle, sparkling clear and bright,
Gifted to me by my bride, with delight,
Preciously preserved across sands of time,
As a memory of our love still shines;
Inside the bottle lies a soft and sweet
Scent of shared love, a wholesome shining treat
Of vernal flowers, blooming fresh and new,
Handpicked for their fragrance and lively hues;
With a gentle touch, a thin spray seeps out
To outlast its whiff through the day, no doubt,
A tiny drop on the skin is not vain,
It rushes love memories in its train;
It streams tenderness of first loving days,
Revives in my mind sweetness of old ways,
Rouses a warm feel of fond affection,
A cozy feeling, verging on passion;
More than a perfume bottle, it`s love sign
That across flight of time does not decline,
Memory of first love held in the hand
That like rock, many a strain does withstand.
Your god’s not mine, or so you claim—
yet still we walk the world, the same.
You speak of love, of hope, of peace,
while others preach that wrath won’t cease.
Who holds the truth? Who lights the way?
Do we kneel to pray, or rise to lead?
A single street, a dozen creeds—
each door adorned with sacred signs.
Which path is right? Which voice is true?
Which god is meant for me—or you?
Or do we stand outside the gate,
hearts unsure, resigned to fate,
still searching skies both near and far
to ask: whose god is truly ours?
What truly is power
Is it control or the silence that follows it?
Is it born from bullets and broken promises
Or from the love we dismiss as weakness?
Can power ever be shared
like bread split between hungry Sudanese hands
as if leadership were a meal
the poor can taste in equal halves?
Or is power what poisons the soil
the reason Sudanese children sleep in graves
instead of schools
the reason Sudanese mothers run carrying loss?
Power has become a cruel currency
bought with lives and traded in blood.
But perhaps the truth is this
power without love is nothing but war.
The love you shared that did not last
Sadness felt when remembering the past
Stomach aches when you look at the skies
The stars glow bright, like her big brown eyes
Try to move forward, find a new love
She came to you from Heaven above
Time moves on, sometimes stands still
The Happiness felt, is this Gods will.
The stars are bright in the night sky
The twinkle you see from within her eyes
You look and see the big bright moon
You realize your love will leave you soon
A snail draws a map
across my shoe, unaware
I'm standing still too.
I may not be in the best position to give advice
but know that this little ditty comes from the heart ~
Self-respect goes a long way.
Set your boundaries and stand your ground.
People will want to play their games,
when they get close you'll fend them off.
Guard your integrity with your life,
it's the best thing that you've got.
Like roots of one tree,
Hearts entwined, storms cannot shake,
Strong, deep, and ever.
©bfa022625
For me,
Penning poetic words,
Is a desired labor of love;
Sharing life’s awareness
Of the guided wisdom
Poured out of God’s cistern
To wave and froth inspiration;
And the beauty
Of it all
Is that God’s cistern
Is eternally overflowed
With such frothing words;
Energizing
Thirsty searching souls
And strengthening
Our tested spirits
With His peace
Love and healing grace;
And I pray
My poetic well
Will continue
To be flooded
With buckets
Of hydrating words;
And when God
Retires me
I pray
My keloid
Clanging echoes
Will continue
To quench
Inspirational thirst:-
Is it not loved shared
Where the true quest of
Humanity is shown
Stitching each wound
Patching a torn yesterday
A quilt of warmth
Healed of all the doom
Together resolution
Apart we wander
Consumed
Written: December 06, 2024
___________________________
We were born into tribes
cinctured by bonds and praxis
welded by ambits and dictums
an eyeless chasm.
But scope a sounder view
just under the shimmering surface
and the outcome will be luculent
our parallels often outshine our oddities.
Our blood is crimson
all of us slipshod weeps
all of us longing for love
all of us fail to face our fears.
Our zeal fashion fetching flow
our souls seek seraphic symbiosis
we all itch for a warm welcome
and achieve startling accolades.
But, we build walls,
and draw lines in the sand,
we judge hinged on appearance,
and ignore the outstretched hand.
But if we may just foresee,
beyond the color of our skin,
and the language we spree,
we may find kin.
Because in the recesses of our souls
within our deep cores
all of us are noxious
rhapsodic around finding fulfillment.
So let's slip away,
from the chains of tribalism,
and gasp our kinships,
with love and hope.
For only then,
can we for real unite,
and transcend our differences,
Into a world of light.
We went around in circles,
yet the truth lingered right between us,
smirking as if it had already triumphed.
You labeled it complicated.
I called it chaos.
There’s nothing beautiful about pretending—
about trying to bridge a gap so vast
that you can taste the deception in your mouth.
But we went ahead anyway.
Sat there.
Grinning, as if we didn’t already realize
this was the beginning of the end.
wisdom
reason and sense
shared among young and old
common bonds beyond existence
sageness
chasing the heat haze on the highway
smoking a spliff while "let it roll” plays
praying to feel your touch by Friday
without adding another cross on the byway
I haven’t seen the world
as it is
for a while
but I refuse to close my eyes
and abide
by their lies
as a mother Searches
ashes
for her child
all so some bastard can watch the sea
while it rises
and dies
I hope this half gets me to payday
although It wont take any pain way
I can Stow it away
for another day
While it watches and waits for my minds decay
they left in 1921
but just took there guns
to Jerusalem
still a child throws a stone
& they break bone
to break soul
in the sky zanana’s flown
to kick hope
show control
wains with nowhere to go
forced to roam
with no home
a Folk with no gravestone
left alone
not a rose
I rock in this outdoor cheap chair
Its cushion foam like ice cream
Half-eaten by the winter mice in storage
I don’t mind
Don’t need a full seat to see before me
The drop off on Torch Lake
Its fine line drawn between sky and space
So turquoise on one side black and blue on the other
Top to bottomless cliff
A mere step to reach one side from the other
If I dare walk on water
Wind carves the lake into slices of pie
Pulpy blueberry squeezes out the sides
Dragonflies bob in lilac updrafts
Broke open moments ago from their crawling lakeshore nymphs
Split open on the rocks
Their brittle wings snap in the wind
Snacks uncrinkling to a Kingfisher’s snatches
Fate born that way is hard to take
Of course many of these spindles escape to the flowers and meadows
But not all
I stand up
Boy to Dad to Grandpa
When did this happen? To survive this long?
To still hunger these many wonders?
To grow to know I am no more important
Then this oozing lake
Divided
And Memorial Day wind colliding with dragonflies and Kingfishers.
Wandering wonders
I see paths break asunder
My wonder wanders
-- by ThoughtsFromB4
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