A simple fig

“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I read the words,

Those she spoke in her mind to the world

so long ago

before she was gone

and I fear that I understand the truth

of the dream, the fear she holds.

She speaks the words of want,

Overwhelmed by abundance,

of ultimately not deciding

from fear,

and for some reasons her words make me sad.

To feel that way,

to reach out

yet pull back unsure

indecision the hardest cut

as she starves wondering which

is the one to pluck,

and which shall be the chosen one,

deeper words reminiscent of a movie

that sparked fear when I was young,

Sophie’s Choice ,

in the depths of war to have to choose

between one or another,

I hate choice therefore

I chose something as opposed to nothing,

I reach out and hold it in my hands

appreciative for the chance

to have it all.

World elixir

Round glass filled
Elixir of the world
Swimming in the goblet
Hope and love
Wishes and dreams
Blends of colors
Earth people united.
Cultures swirled
Like a melting pot filled
With heart and soul
Rainbows of goodness
Together twined
Like ribbon of silk
Crayola shades beyond a dream
Of something not created
Yet seen by all
Common understanding
Drink up
A toast
To the world that spins
Unfelt by the body
Sensed by the inner soul
Changes of time
Stars above move
Sparkling like ice cubes
In this fine crystal.
A toast to friends, family and strangers of this orb
We call home.


How did you sleep
When I slept it was good
When I wasn’t , I was awake.
Thought played in my head
Chasing cat instead of stars
Wishing I were asleep in bed.
In the dark
Like a psychotic ghost
Rushing about
She scurries away
Grasp of softness
Door open out goes one as
Another rushes in.
Crafty little beast
Who lives to steal my sleep,
Walking on me
Mommy doormat
Yawn at three am
Off kilter slumber
Each noise awakes
The not quite asleep.
Alarm goes beep beep boop
Thoughts of words lull me gently
I dive into the depth of dream,
Weight on my head
Eyes peering at me
Big wet tongue
Wipes my face
Are you up yet
Forty six pounds of glee
Dancing on me.
Ode to a morning of wishing it were
Night once more
Heavy lids
Bid you good morning world
I breathe in coffee,
Is this day over yet?
I’d rather be counting stars
Not minutes till day comes
Too early.