curiosity

A teacup that only accepts raindrops as payment

~ ~M ~ 10 Comments

Tears were her last resort
As every cloud was fresh out of rain
So she summoned all of her sadness
Releasing it in pitter patters of pain

The teacup could only smile
As the droplets fell one by one
Now holding the valuable elixir
He beamed for what he had done

© 2025 Michelle Cook

Sometimes we just need to pour out our pain and it’s nice when someone invites us to do that. Thank you to those who have. 😉 ~M xoxo

*For those of you who are curious about the title, I’ve decided to write a series of poems from the perspective of objects, exploring how they might help us if we listen to their unspoken wisdom. I hope these little poems will help you think about ways you can help yourself in a world where each of us may often feel alone.

Photo generated with AI

Foaming oceans and secret potions

~ ~M ~ 10 Comments

Foamy, translucent blue swells
give birth to an abundance of tiny seashells.

A few find their path and scuttle away,
but many more find themselves lost in the vast array.

The stranded ones lie in crevices hoping they’ll be found
before the savage sea pounds them into the ground.

A few get noticed by curious little hands,
but most get tossed back into the abrasive sand.

The ones that survive are mostly made of pristine perfection
while the others bide their time in a constant state of rejection.

Silently they wish for secret potions that do not exist,
at last being pulled under, lost to the murky mist.

© 2021 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/water-surf-nature-sea-wave-ocean-3194377/

Writing prompt: Foaming oceans and secret potions

Twirly birds and twinkled toes

~ ~M ~ 15 Comments

Waltzing on the wind
Dotting doorways with delight
Treasures for children

© 2021 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/shoes-laces-wood-planks-deck-2619481/

Writing prompt: Twirly birds and twinkled toes

Acceptance

~ ~M ~ 11 Comments

coffee-1711431_1280

I found myself depleted
Of every last drop
Not even an ounce of myself
Was left in the cup

I’d been spilled nonchalantly
Chipped on occasion
And I’d invited my curiosity
To allow an invasion

I worked tirelessly everyday
To refill my cup
But the pieces gave way
And I had to give up

Even the glue that lingered
Wasn’t that strong
So mending the edges
Went unbelievably wrong

The stains and scars
Still very much remain
And the cracks are reminders
Of so much pain

Thankfully a vessel
Doesn’t have to look nice
So this battered old cup
Will just have to suffice

© 2019 Michelle Cook