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Heather Mitchell Poem
There’s a realm that lives inside of me,
And I call it secret heart valley.
There the sun is always shining,
Though in this world I am pining.
There the flowers always bloom,
Whilst the real world swirls with gloom.
This place exists I tell you true,
And there the sky is always blue.
Path ways of the whitest marble,
You really should visit; it’s quite a marvel.
Trees awaken fresh and new,
Dripping with the morning dew.
Waves lap gently at lake shores,
And here my heart, it aches no more.
Here I wander happy and free,
Released from the real world’s misery.
I run through the hills so very thrilling,
I bathe in the rivers fast and chilling.
I rest by a warm fireside at night,
And in the creatures of the forest gain much delight.
It’s the ultimate getaway for one,
It costs not a cent; it’s just for fun.
If your life in this world has made you down trodden and blue,
You can visit secret heart valley too.
Fore you’ll have to create one of your own,
My special place is not for loan.
You’ll find this sweet garden on no map or chart,
The key is located within your own heart.
Take some time to enjoy and create,
And your worldly cares will temporarily abate.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
Heaven can wait as I long for you this starlit magical night.
A sinner I wilt be but am brave enough to face morning’s light.
For a taste of your honey lips I would face damnation and hell fires.
Cast aside inhibitions, take me full in your arms and fulfill my desires.
Hold me ever tighter and show me heaven here upon this earth.
Close those pearly gates to me, this moment has much greater worth.
Stroke my hair; caress my skin, together our hearts racing,
Forbidden pleasures of the flesh we explore, excitement chasing.
Holy water is good for the spirit, soul cleansing, and refreshingly wet.
Nothing can compare to the indulgence and exaltation of lovers’ sweat.
The golden streets and angel choruses have never been proven reality.
There is nothing so pleasureful and stark true than human sexuality.
Threatening words of old cannot stop us, ink stains in a book of antiquity.
The might of the bible surpasses not love, fall ye fast against, upon me.
Bring your masculine strength here within; rock us away into the abyss.
Yes I am sure heaven can wait as we seal this tender act with a kiss.
For all the tribulations life brings to me I deserve this pleasure.
Heaven will wait for me never dissolving, as this fleeting moment I treasure.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
Liken rejection to the most revolting vile taste known to man.
Remember back to childhood, your very least favorite dish,
Recall how anticipation of this food caused a queasy stomach,
You would have given anything to avoid the dreaded enemy.
Forced at long last to face the table you’d gather up courage,
Employed crafty strategies such as hiding morsels in a napkin,
Faking a sudden illness, or pocketing vulgar hand fulls unseen.
Finally coerced to swallow mouth full after sickening mouth full,
Quickly trying not to throw up hoping to endure your punishment.
So easy and obvious it is to draw a comparison now as an adult,
Always frantically running terrified from all forms of rejection,
Choosing denial or simply turning off your emotional taste buds.
Everyone must weather this horrid gut-wrenching gull occasionally.
Curiosity presses me to ask what awful flavor is rebuff for you?
Is it unbelievably sour like drinking fresh squeezed lemon juice,
Puckering your mouth, twisting up your face, causing watery eyes?
Maybe it’s unreasonably sweet bringing on instant dizzying nausea.
Does it catch in your throat like a partially chewed bite of meat,
Choking, gagging, suffocating causing discomfort and panic?
For some it might even be a spicy hot flaming irrupting volcano,
Burning all the way down, then smoldering painfully for days.
Could it be like eating salt turning your mouth into a desert,
Cracked lips a parched tongue desperately crave cold water?
Others find it as cooked okra unpleasant slimy and fowl,
Oozy squishy slippery goo repulsive difficult to swallow.
With some foods it’s the texture or an unappealing smell,
Still more have memories attached very painful to tell.
It is human nature to avoid foods we don’t care for,
As with rejection which most people strongly abhor.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
Come forth, come forth my eastern flame,
With heat and warmth of a new sunrise,
Hold ye close this yearning frame,
Look deep into my azure eyes!
Come hither au me my eastern fire,
With trembling and untried hand,
Release yourself to willful desire,
Your very will is my command!
Uncharted territory you will now explore,
Touch softly with waiting fingers,
Your gentility I do implore,
As your uncertainty lingers!
What is felt should surely be done,
Tell me of your tenderest need,
My affections you have already won,
I will bring your dreams to life, indeed!
I am familiar with your outward charms,
Simple speeches that show you care,
Now hold me within unknown arms,
Abandon yourself without thought or care!
Hold me; hold me so ever tight,
I will embrace you warmly too,
Let us enjoy a magical night,
Expressions of feelings deep and true!
Now you have the ultimate chance,
Raise yourself to heights of passion,
Make with me a romantic advance,
Caress and kiss with wild reaction!
We embark upon a special journey together,
As you give me so many reasons to smile,
I know I will treasure this moment forever,
Savoring its pleasures all the while!
Written in the year 2000 in honor of Jung-Yao Yen.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
I love thee my dearest from far across the sea,
Prey soon and safely you’ll return home to me.
When you had to leave with you my heart you did take,
I promised that our sacred bond I would not forsake.
Faithful I will be here on the other side of the world,
Waiting anxiously with heart open and arms unfurled.
True happiness and pleasure for me are denied,
Until you return with great fanfare to my side.
This tragedy accosted us with much warning,
My battered soul for loss of you is mourning.
Never knowing I could miss one person so much,
I long to hear your voice and feel your soft touch.
Days are long and lonely without your company now,
I guess I manage to muttle through somehow.
Hold your pillow close to my heart at night,
And dream of times together till first light.
I cannot select one thing I mostly miss,
Is it your embrace, your smile, your tender kiss?
Feeling quite paralyzed as if half of me is gone,
I struggle to do my daily tasks finding it hard to go on.
Whenever my phone rings I prey to hear your voice,
Forced to be a victim without recourse or choice.
I stair at our photograph with red and bloodshot eyes,
The greatness of my inward pains more and more do realize.
Reading our journal is an escape into the past,
Memories of wonderful times I preyed would forever last.
Politics and paperwork ripped you out of my arms,
Separating us maybe forever and doing irreparable harm.
Sometimes my desire to be with you again becomes desperate,
I threaten to give up my life here and hasten to you to solve our plight.
Often I think too much with my heart failing to use my head,
As another Jeffless night I sternly dread.
But you remind me to be cautious and wait,
We must leave this challenge to the hand of fait.
If our love is truly meant to last forever,
This is only a test of our will to stay together.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
Oh the taste of sweet temptation,
Revitalizes dormant imagination.
So delicious and readily handy,
Shall I partake of forbidden candy?
Spontaneity is an understated treasure,
It’s delightful value hard to measure.
Escape from this rut would be nice,
Liven up my boring life with spice.
Opportunity has flung wide an open door,
I must proceed through to discover more.
By his first glance I was at once captivated,
Then with conversation became fascinated.
A semblance of intelligence surrounds him,
My chance to win his affections probably slim.
Instant attraction towards him I shall not deny,
Why must I invariably be so outwardly shy?
Youthful rapture his fare face ignites,
Curiosity his appealing voice excites.
He regards me with gentility and respect,
Yet a hint of desire do I slightly detect?
More time with him is what I now crave,
To fulfill this wish I need to be brave.
My next move I carefully contemplate,
Do I dare tempt the unfeeling hand of fate?
May I earn his attentions? This I must know,
If I fail to try I must live with nagging woe.
How could a brief encounter mean so much,
A stranger’s actions my life inexplicably touch?
My passions have been awakened and tantalized,
I wonder if his enticing effect on me he realized?
Questions abound flood my mind and hotly burn,
This enchanted heart for answers begins to yearn.
Plunge forth seized not by pangs of hesitation,
For once let me be ruled by absolute elation!
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
My pen;
Is the source of my greatest power,
Conveys my deepest private thoughts,
Translates the speech of my spirit,
Utters the voice of my very soul,
Thus is my most precious tool.
When I am sad;
My pen may be likened to a lost orphaned child,
Wandering aimlessly through the woods at dusk,
Exposed to the cruelty of this unfeeling world,
Helpless cold fearful and knowingly unwanted.
It drips sluggish tears of ink across the page,
Dragging itself with what little strength remains,
Desperately seeking and end to bitter sorrow.
When I am happy;
My pen is an uncontrollable fluttering butterfly,
Skittering quickly quavering across pure paper,
Touching down so lightly with seraphim feet,
Much penned up energy impossible to contain,
Excited ideas poor forth like ambrosial torrents.
When I am angry;
I unleash the rabid dog that is my weapon,
It launches itself forth with ferocious haste,
Scratching and clawing out loathsome words,
Shredding paper betwixt slavering locked jaws,
Its breath is heavy with the odor of blood lust,
Hungry for vengeance and a taste of the enemy.
Sweet Catharsis;
Criticize me not for committing my thoughts to paper,
Scorn me no longer for sharing my feelings thus healthily,
Generously give instead credit for self-control and creativity.
Would you rather I go about spilling tears down upon my cheeks,
While depressed unwittingly bringing down the moods of others?
Or shall I act upon the ugly desires that anger may conjure,
Behaving recklessly deliberately injuring those around me?
Though happiness and excitement are meant to be shared,
Even positive emotions must be kept in gentle restraint.
So leave me to my great escape my personal outlet,
Do read enjoy and admire my prudent craft,
And if the fancy strikes you some lonely day,
Empower yourself with the greatest tool known,
Pick up an all mighty pen and write!
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
True love is silently enduring,
Like a bolder exposed to the rough elements,
The blistering sun beats down harshly upon it,
But it stands proudly audaciously unchanged.
Torrents of rain and snow wash over its surfaces,
Yet it remains a constant figure upon the landscape,
Howling winds may assail its naked faces,
Out of spite it stays boldly firmly affixed,
Refusing to yield to all mighty forces.
True love is flexible,
Able to bend and sway like a majestic willow tree,
Mother Nature’s graceful flowing dance partner,
Taking zephyr breezes or hurricanes in stride,
Allowing branches to be easily moved aside,
For the passage of life’s obstacles or debris,
In so bending avoids the pain of breaking.
True love must be pure,
As an undiscovered mountain stream,
Not yet polluted by human will,
Left free to follow its own course,
Determining its own pathway,
Without dams or diversions,
Thrilling spiritually refreshing.
True love should be a shelter,
A place of protection and safety,
Wherein the world is worry free,
A cave den to a hibernating bear,
Under a mother’s wing for a chick,
Sea weed for a school of hapless fish,
A dense thicket for a bunny family,
Our ultimate escape a warm hug.
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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Heather Mitchell Poem
A writer’s quest is not one of impressing,
Not one of over doing,
Rather one of purest communication.
A writer’s quest lives within,
In hearts, in thoughts, in souls,
Feelings become words,
Depth is spread on paper.
A writer’s quest is not always easy,
Always wonderful and rewarding,
But as a writer I am dedicated,
As are all other writers bound,
To fulfill this arduous quest!
Copyright © Heather Mitchell | Year Posted 2005
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