She Be a Poet: Seeds Beneath The Snow

Two seeds are frivolously planted, roots begin to grow

the gardener and his shovel made a groove beneath the snow.

With words and without warning, she tries but can’t forget

one side thoughtful gentleman, the other makes her fret.

Once more retreat begins, protective cloak she wears

hiding so her eyes can’t see, the net, unpredictable snares.

Who she is, is not enough, painful, usual, truth

Soul sore of being second best to fantasies and youth.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2014

She Be a Poet: New Moon & Cherry Tea

New moon you came along tonight with messages confused.

You told me what you dream of, once again you left me bruised.

New moon I put the kettle on, it whistled while I bled.

New moon your brew was bitter-sweet, I choose Cherry Tea instead.

Hot and sometimes scolding, test me by temperature.

I learn to wait for tepid eau , burned mouth there is no cure.

New moon you have a way with words they trickle down my cup,

But cherry won’t allow for waste,

Crimson sweetness won’t give up.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2014

She Be a Poet: Mystery Maker

Mystery in the making from opening my eyes
Knowing deep within my soul the secret there it lies
You won’t believe me when I say I’m ok not confused
You labelled me and there it stuck between my high-heeled shoes.

Mystery unravelling, blowing subtle breeze
Uncoiled and ready for the sun, sand grains caress my knees
What I can see may not be clear for vultures poised to taint
The present, an artists canvas, eager for me to paint.

I can tell what they remember so my mystery remains
Intuition like mighty Hercules, strong, refusing to wane
Speak to those who listen, they often tell us this
All ears at your first sentence, then kill you, deadly kiss.

My mystery is all I have it keeps my mind from madness
My dreams you know are safely kept, no drama or endless sadness.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2014

She Be a Poet: Sweet Roses

Sweet smelling roses undiluted fragrant flare,

My nostrils drunk on petals floating on polluted air.

Sweet smelling roses where angels dare to tread,

Brave are they who tip toe around my giddy head.

Sweet smelling roses, God, he must be near,

Gently whispered scents they flow, I listen, I can hear.

Sweet smell of roses I close my eyes to see,

Perfectly formed bloom appears to me.

Sweet smelling roses, sprinkled, they tickle my soul,

Once a bud in this life, now grown, I am whole.

@Michelle Sotiriou 2014

She Be a Poet: Maybe

Is there a way to uncomplicated times when nothing and no one vexed her,
She wades through, thinking where has that girl gone,
there once, now she’s a memory.

Where is her rosy outlook hiding, why is it now thorny,
Eyes wide once, colours vibrant and everywhere, replaced by tunnel vision, blind to opportunity on the left, destined path to the right.

Maybe is a word she hears, in her mind and the lips of others,
what fear stops committed words, they aren’t so scary are they?
The wish for something better, an offer, there are but few,
She waits because she knows she is, the only one that’s true.

© Michelle Sotiriou 2014