suffering

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

Exquisite little things…

~ ~M ~ 7 Comments

Beauty lies in exquisite little things
and oh, the joy each one can bring

Tiny buds shooting up from the earth
does anyone notice their undeniable worth

A small hand that reaches out
when time is short and heartaches about

Do we see the love that’s clearly there
or do we sit uninterested without a care

The look from a friend, be it human or pet
compassions eye, causing us not to fret

Do we open our hearts and let the love rush in
as that smiling face tries to warm us from within

A tree that sways from a forest glen
welcoming us back time n time again

Do we notice how it gives a place to rest our feet
offering us a spot for introspection and retreat

The sky filled with glory of the heavenly kind
taking our breath away when we need to rewind

Do we stop and take notice, capturing the delight
or instead, look away, never noticing the light

The gift of a kind gesture, a selfless act from purest love
perhaps the presence of angels sent from above

Maybe we don’t see the treasure that’s always been right there
plagued by hardships and suffering, are we completely unaware?

© 2024 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/spring-flower-wild-flower-4042746/

Truth be told

~ ~M ~ 26 Comments

I had to say goodbye,
not because of what was said
but because of the unsaid.
Your words just never materialized,
and words being as they are,
the lifeblood of my being,
I began to die from the lack of them.
Long ago, I knew your words so intimately,
but then they remained frozen,
resting frigidly on the tip of your tongue.
And even though I trusted you in earnest
with the conviction of a true believer,
you stopped being as you were,
the truth and spirit in you unrecognizable,
just a breath away from mine.
Your silence flooded my body,
and I was drowned by words
that never surfaced.
You felt empty to me
like ashes in somber refrain.
And the wind took you quietly away from me
on a path that never belonged to me.
It was in that moment I realized
we were never meant to be
because real love speaks
from deeply buried places
and never runs out of words.

© 2023 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-mysterious-field-road-meadow-5718089/

Late Autumn

~ ~M ~ 23 Comments

Damp and decaying like timeworn leather, the
wind stirs each fossilized apparition.
Holding fast against the sultry winds of
time; clinging, dependent, on limp limbs. These
creaky extremities reach for silhouetted faces,
haunting shadows with limited life. And in
withered strain feeble fists persevere, while the
sufferings of the season wilt within the crowd.
Littering the pavement like languorous petals,
inky remembrances of rosier days pass on.
In the bleakness of the night with a
shudder and a sigh, wasting away in the wet
rot of decomposing rainbows. Now black
and spoiled against the barren bough.

© 2023 Michelle Cook

 

*Golden Shovel Poetry Writing Exercise
The only rule for this type of poem is that each word of your source poem must appear as the last word of each line in your poem—and they should be in the order that they appear in the original. Your poem will contain as many lines as your source poem has words.

Here’s the poem I chose to use. (So if you read down my poem, the end of each line uses all these words in order.)

In the Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.

by Ezra Pound


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/branches-tree-black-and-white-rain-4621320/

Silent killer

~ ~M ~ 35 Comments

Silent killer,
invisible threat,
wrapped around my heart
like an all-consuming net.
Tugging, squeezing,
barely able to breathe,
this is the reason
why I endlessly grieve.
The elephant in the room
gets heavier on my heart,
feels like my insides
are being ripped apart.
Loss is a thing
I cannot seem to bear;
still, the weight of it
follows me everywhere.

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/waterdrop-grief-trauerkarte-4447343/