poem

Overthinking…

~ ~M ~ 49 Comments

Sometimes our minds
deceive us,
thoughts oft spilling over
as introspection takes flight.

Our minds tend to steal
our boxes,
those fancy ones filled
with practical reasoning.

Our minds can be
negligent and hurried,
blundering through the day,
then seizing up at night.

Our minds are uniquely etched
with thoughts and desires,
each personal contemplation
deliciously our own.

Our minds can get lost
in the depths of depravity
or swing gracefully to the side
of decency and honor.

Our minds are full of reflections,
ideas, and wonder,
serving as a haven
for the things we must hide.

Our minds can be enigmatic
or effortlessly understandable,
typically only ever failing us
if we give away our control.

And sometimes, we obsess
and overthink because we’re human,
forgetting that our minds
have a mind of their own.

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/water-beauty-model-reflection-4658769/

Buttery biscuits

~ ~M ~ 25 Comments

Better than anything,
her cuteness makes me smile.

Underneath the maple tree,
we laugh for a very long while.

The next thing we both know,
the sun is nearing its stage to set.

Time seems like our enemy
when we realize that’s all we get.

End-of-day loveliness
stretches across the carnation sky.

Remembering the late hour,
still deferring the day’s goodbye.

Yesterday’s such as this
often leave a feeling of bittersweet.

But those memories, they fill us
on days when we’re incomplete.

Illusions of everlasting delight
remain cradled upon our chests.

So many things a mother suffers,
the losses are hard to digest.

Come what may we say in quiet,
as the years start to pass us by.

Until the end draws nearer
and we’re left with all the why’s.

It’s the not knowing that hurts the most;
the answers never found.

This life is never easy,
but we do our best to be around.

Silently we pass; still, nobody ever knows
all a mother suffers and endures
as they watch their babies grow.

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/mother-child-family-daughter-girl-3793521/

Writing prompt: Buttery biscuits – given to me by my very sweet daughter, Autumn Rose.

Life, will I ever?

~ ~M ~ 25 Comments

Life,
it moves us along
at record speed.

I try to dangle
delicately,
occasionally letting
my feet scrape
against the ground.

And as I swing under
my beloved canopy,
I notice the poor old oak
has seen better days.

Brittle bark scatters
like tarnished snowflakes,
and the bough dips
against the weight
of my sways.

But do I stop?

No, I continue on
in careless destruction,
marring my protector
all while biding my time.

I’m still a child; after all,
I do not recognize
my mistakes;
will I ever?

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-swing-playground-trees-6722023/

Virginia

~ ~M ~ 28 Comments

In whispers along
those distant easterly winds,
I hear you yearning
from deep within.

A hushed desire,
a shushed thrill,
waiting and wanting
as the cold night stills.

Desperate longing,
so loving and sure,
making all these miles
so hard to endure.

Racing thoughts
as cravings run rampant,
yet suffocated by sheets
where warmth is absent.

The days tick by
while our breasts lay bare,
but dreams they beckon,
flourishing in the air.

Our fantasies morph
into realistic pleasures
and dancing after dusk
is our favorite endeavor.

But it’s there in the shadows
where we truly find our way,
into each other’s arms,
where we strive to stay.

Desperate for one kiss,
appeased by a calming sigh
hidden in our hearts,
all the many reasons why.

© 2020 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-nude-body-erotic-sensual-5815695/

Originally written: June 2020

Nighttime whispers

~ ~M ~ 27 Comments

The past still beckons me,
though my future is clear.
Still, it’s hard to leave behind
all the things we once held dear.

Unfortunately, people change,
and our hearts wail in disbelief.
And those unspoken topics
are the bearers of our grief.

Woeful whispers in the night
tend to fuel my disheartened spirit.
I try to bandage my bleeding heart,
but nothing can ever cure it.

So many things I want to forget,
but there’s nothing I can undo.
So I spend my days looking for ways
to begin my life anew.

Written by, Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/illustrations/sci-fi-fantasy-moon-couple-7143964/

Writing prompt, courtesy of my hubby: Nighttime whispers.