A woman of fire

 

There’s a heavy breeze, the distant wood crackling.

The sky is reddish-black; the stars barely shine.

Winds gather speed while the sun slips into dusk—

a humid gust snaps: Mother Earth has spoken again.

A woman of fire

She is forged from flame, descending gracefully from the heavens.

Arms outstretched, wrapped in reddish-orange embers,

she stands poised in a strapless gown—black and gold,

accented with crimson echoes of her birthright.

Her body hovers above the Earth, arms open in embrace;

blue-tinted eyes gaze downward toward Mother Earth.

Yet mind and soul ache, and she begins to see:

every whisper of wind, every snap of flame shapes an answer.

A sudden shift—wind thickens, steam ascends;

she gathers the warmth to her heart, yet the heart weeps.

A woman of fire

Eyes closed, she listens to the wind’s hush,

to sparks arcing across the darkening sky.

Is this her pain alone,

or does the sorrow of others entwine with her own?

She holds the hurt and tries to turn it into light,

but even fire sometimes needs help.

The wind falls silent; every ache feels personal.

Watching those who once spoke down to her,

she has grown strong, her tongue fierce.

Not everyone can endure her flames.

Some understand—her story is therapy.

Others judge, ready to defend themselves.

Her heart returns to the absence of her father,

a daily ache that longs to heal yet struggles.

Her flames rise in reverence: a guard, a shield.

She bows her head; tears fall—

with every offered tissue comes a hug.

A woman of fire

Gentle, sweet of soul,

she carries too much pain.

Never mistake her for foolish;

treat her with respect.

She is forged from fire,

descending from the heavens with a smile in her eyes.

Arms open, dressed in midnight black and molten gold,

aglow with the red of living flame.

A woman of the air

There’s a gentle breeze,

with the sound of the wind whispering.

The sun transitions from dawn to dusk.

Suddenly, a quick breeze brushes past—

Like a deep sigh has been released.

Trees sway in the direction the wind blows.

A woman of the air.

She stands with gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands are pushed outwards,

casting away any demonic forces.

She wears a sleeveless halter,

a black and red laced midi dress

with a high-low pleated hem.

The wind begins to pick up speed.

Eyes closed,

she starts to visualize everything around her.

With each sound of the wind,

her answer begins to form.

Her hands shift

from outstretched to a heart gesture—

index fingers touching the base of the thumbs,

thumbs joined with middle and ring fingers,

pinkies extended straight.

After this quick hand transition,

she feels a sudden shift in the wind.

Her heart begins to generate heat.

These visions of love are coming together.

The dating scene had been quite painful.

Her heart—ripped right out of her chest.

The anxiety her heart has endured...

she doesn’t want to feel that pressure anymore.

Will her heart and soul connect her to the right guy?

Will this connection be forever bliss?

And if it comes from afar, how will they meet?

She feels her heart is prepared—

ready for the right guy

to treat her as a queen.

She never wants to endure

that brutal heart pain again.

Will heaven come knocking on her door,

sending her butterflies instead of a dozen roses?

A woman of the air.

She stands with gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands transition

from a heart gesture

to prayer hands

as she begins to pray.

The wind listens

to every word

as it flows.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

I come to you in this painful time.

I ask—if it is your will—

for a decent gentleman to come into my life.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

A woman of the air.

Her vision is coveted in her mind—

a missing piece that understands

The true meaning of loving someone.

She prays

that third time’s the charm,

because her heart was left with jagged edges.

Pain embedded deep within,

leaving holes in her heart

because she loved him deeply.

Her heart resembles Swiss cheese—

its beat thudding

as if outside her chest.

She places her hands over it,

streaming tears flowing

down her innocent face.

What has this heart done?

Trying to find the missing clue

to this question…

She stares blankly.

Her mind spins through

all the scenarios of this heartache.

She stands again,

gentle movements

in the middle of the forest.

Her hands shift once more

from heart to prayer.

With her eyes closed,

she begins to pray

while the wind listens

to every word.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

I come to you in this painful time.

I ask—if it is your will—

for a decent gentleman to come into my life.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

A woman of the air.

The wind’s direction grows still

to hear her speak.

Father of the heavens,

You know what my heart needs and desires.

If it's in your will,

guide her heart and show her the answer.

Will her soul connect with the right man?

Will the connection be forever bliss?

If love comes from afar, how will they meet?

The wind blows abruptly.

Leaves sway and spin.

The answer is in stillness—

Her heart needs deep cleansing.

Her heart is still in silent pain,

still holding on.

The process is spiraling.

The wind grows still.

A voice draws close:

Patience, my dear.

The right guy will present himself to you.

Don’t worry about the distance—there is a way.

Love knows no distance. Through love, there is a way.

You speak through a broken heart,

and with a broken heart comes doubt.

You must love yourself more deeply.

You must pace yourself.

Never lean on just one feeling.

Never believe every storyline, like before.

If he is the right one,

His heart piece will fit snug with yours.

A woman of the air.

If he is right,

He will be everything she’s looking for—

because their souls will match.

Always remember:

Love sees no lines,

and true love

will find its way to you.

A woman of the ocean

It's a cool, yet warm breeze,

With the sound of the ocean moving.

Far out in the distance,

You can see the trees sway in the warm wind.

The crisp air flows through,

Causing the ocean to move gracefully.

It radiates beauty, reflecting seven colors:

Multiple shades of white — for innocence, charm, and purity;

Red — for romance and love;

Yellow — for joy;

Orange — for enthusiasm and energy;

Blue — for calmness and loyalty;

Pink — for gentleness and admiration.

A woman of the ocean.

She stands in complete stillness,

Close by the ocean, on warm sand.

She wears a flowing, strapless, sky-blue dress,

With touches of white to represent the clouds.

Absorbing nature silently,

Her eyes closed,

She begins to visualize the world around her.

Her hands are in the position of Tai Chi cloud hand,

Knees slightly bent, facing the ocean.

Suddenly, a quick, painful sigh escapes her

As she begins to perform Tai Chi.

With every vision in her mind,

Tears begin to fall—

And the ocean waves start to rise.

Her vision is a reflection of her past,

A hurtful one—

A life without her father.

She always longed for him.

These are tears of an absent childhood,

Raised by her mother, day in and day out.

These tears must stop.

She silently grows inside painful memories

Too heavy to speak of aloud.

Are these visions truly hers?

Is this her pain she is seeing and feeling?

A woman of the ocean.

Her vision is carved deep within her mind.

The pain of abandonment, of deadbeat fathers.

This pain pours from her soul,

As another sigh escapes.

Her words may stumble when she speaks,

Yet they are fluently written in motion.

One movement at a time,

She lets her pain flow with the water.

One movement at a time,

She lets it drift away with the wind.

She stands,

Facing the ocean,

Allowing all her pain to fade.

What once was dark red is now replaced with peace.

The water’s flow slows to a halt.

The wind’s direction stills.

The only movement—

A gentle flutter of her dress.

This is healing from Mother Earth.

A Woman in the field

It's quite breezy,

and the sun is shining bright—

as bright as it could ever be.

Yellow and white flowers,

some pass as sunflowers and lilies.

A woman in the field

dressed in an all-white strapless dress

stands completely still—

absorbing nature,

quietly beginning to visualize

the things happening around her.

These things are real,

and have been for some time.

What she sees isn't a lie,

not mere dust dancing in the wind.

She has spoken,

again and again,

yet nothing ever seems to change.

Her visions speak—

loud and clear

for all eyes to see,

yet eyes go blind.

It's frustrating.

These visions

are not fleeting spirits

whispering only to one.

They are loud,

they are present,

and they matter.

Frustration builds.

Feelings begin to turn inward—

But whose?

Another woman

stands in the background,

seen as a child her entire adulthood.

She has drawn back,

stays quiet at times,

though still present—

active in subtle ways.

She’s cut back on speaking,

leaning on humor,

laying low in silence,

letting the scene unfold.

This woman,

who has long been mistaken for a child,

calls out—

to the woman in the field—

to share her vision.

And then,

a realization.

The woman in the field

is herself.

Smile

 

Never be afraid to smile in front of a million people. Because the energy your smile brings is all that person may need.

A smile is free, and it shouldn't be used as a cover-up. It should come from a pure heart. If it takes you more than an hour to find it, that's not being authentic. 

Never speak with sinister eyes. Because your eyes are readable. Unspoken stories are told through them. So, if you hold onto pain, eye-to-eye can grasp that. So, never voice these words to someone who desperately needs you." Straighten up your face. Because their eyes are speaking words that are hard for their mouths to speak. 

Open up your heart.

Open up your mind.

Open up your door. 

And greet them with a warm embrace. This would put a smile on their face. 

Through the eyes of the poet

 

As they say, spring comes in like a lion and leaves out like a lamb. Imagine that this fits the image of a quiet person until boundaries are established, even when standing up to a bully, which digs deep into my skin. Like, a Mosquito to a Flea. Damn, bloodsuckers.
Venom is not sweet, and you certainly do not want it in your coffee or tea. So, why carry it on your tongue?
Mohammed Ali once said, "Float like a sting like a bee." His jabs certainly packed a punch. Imagine words flowing out just like that.
Some people just don't see things like that. Thinking logically in comparison with another. This is seen through the eyes of the poet, and perhaps words are easily expressed and deeply felt, similar to paint on a canvas.

The elegance of a woman

    Let us express our gratitude to our Almighty Father who dwells in heaven; may Your name be revered. Without Him, there would be no flesh or air filling our lungs, and there would be no mother to nurture us during our time in her womb. Our Father created a vessel capable of enduring the deepest pain imaginable: childbirth. He designed her in a variety of hues, each one shining brilliantly, like stars twinkling in the night sky. It is through our Father who resides in heaven that the memories of the stars are shared among her children, akin to the twinkle in the night sky.

The true beauty of a woman is found not in the challenges she faces, but in the grace and dignity with which she carries herself, reflecting inner confidence, a positive attitude, eloquent communication, intellectual curiosity, and respect for boundaries.