a cappella

For my muse……

a cappella

words come in waves
a chorus splashing in harmony
drenching my dancing heart
as my muse croons
her siren melody
a hypnotic verse reminiscent
of the haunting a cappella
sung by a lonely sea
urging me to fall overboard
into the depth of her words
submerged in metaphors
drowning in poetry

a sunset and a mojito

a sunset and a mojito

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When does loneliness most affect me?

No, not when you think. I would have to say when I sit down to eat. I always imagine the dinner time conversations when families or couples dine. I bet most people take these moments for granted. I don’t.

Drinking my mojito, I watched a sunset.

Started writing a poem on a napkin. (Yes, we may have to change the blog name to The Lonely Napkin Author).

I wrote something for my muse. It will post this coming Monday. Hopefully, she will like it.

This was my dinnertime view last night, all that was missing was YOU.

All Of Me

All Of Me

This week I dedicated myself to catching up to my backlog of 300+ messages. Just replied to my last one.

I wanted to take a moment to thank you for your amazing support, patience, and beautiful words. You have no idea how you, all of you, have touched my lonely heart.

Your warm wishes and praise will always glow deep inside of me.

Thank you for blessing my soul.

I leave you with these magical words from John Legend. (Yes, one from my playlist).

“All of me, loves all of you.”

xoxoxo

Secret Admirer

Secret Admirer

Sitting at a bar, thoughts of muses, poetry. and loneliness floated alongside the ice cubes in my mojito.

I scribbled an occasional sentence or verse on a napkin because they were napkin worthy, unlike most of my other thoughts which are written on….

A waitress asked what I was doing.

“Writing poetry on a napkin.”

Time passed, my melancholy mood in this crowded bar, did not.

The waitress returned with a carnation. Pointing at an empty booth, she advised me a beautiful blonde was watching me as I drank and wrote. She was the curious person who wanted to know what I was writing.

Just before she left, my secret admirer asked the waitress to deliver the flower with a message.

“Mr. Poet, let this inspire you until the next time we meet for the first time.”

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This photo is the carnation resting on the footboard of my bed.