Blessing of Love

Photo -Antique Rose by Sherry Lore

So, I couldn't find the card I bought over a month ago. Heck, I can't find my mind, my voice or my sanity most of the time. So I found a card that had a blossoming flower on in that was blank and wrote a cheesy, but loving, sentiment in it. I love you, you know who...

Anniversary

I am not changed by you or from you,

but with you

Like the earth and moon

your pull attracts me, moves my ocean’s tides

and I hold you steady, in an orbit,

We dance of pushing and pulling

a starlit spin that lasts our lives

I am not made by you or you by me

but nurtured and renewed

Like the wilting bud that life has already cut

closed and confined,

You are soothing water and I am allowed to open

You fill me with so many possibilities

and I bloom

Sherry Lore - Sept.22, 2015

For a friend... Another older poem... (warning explicit)

I could have swore I put this one on here already, but maybe I didn't.  Originally meant for spoken word but I never had the courage to get up on a stage and speak it at an actual reading... Which ironically led me to writing the previous poem as I was about to post this one.


Where the Beauty is
where the beauty is?
why do we only see the beautiful ones on display, 
perfect as complete perfection, photo/makeup/cosmetic correction can make them stay...
replay, forever young, caught in some perpetual still life like on a canvas, 
flawless, braless with ever perky nipples and bright white teeth polish, 
bronzed skin and too tight everything, my god how the world must sing 
whenever they strut their shit all around and bring 
the rest of us less than perfect ones down by saying... nothing

according to the magazines, there go my dreams, 
all in a too fat, too flat, where the fuck's my shit at, 
reality in play, myself is where I stay,
stuck, in 6 weeks you can be like them, in six months you can be like her, 
in 6 years you'll be like you... cause that's the cards we're played, 
the genetic makeup, life breakup, reality shakeup is 
that the impossible really is just that, 
the beautiful really are just that, 
and inside I'm just that

so wake up all you magazine covers, look up and take notice all you trend setters, 
stuck up, rich bitch, fake ass, wanna be real but gotta fake it fuckers
this... is where the beauty is

~Shery Lore
8-1-05

The forgiveness of paper

I always wanted to do spoken word poetry, 
but paper is too forgiving.  
It's so easy to pour onto paper 
what you think, 
how you feel.  
To become what they want... 
expect, hope, fantasize... 
to hear.  

If there is a misspelled word: 
bitterness, anger, frustration, blame... 
there is always the spell check. 

Or if there's a typo: 
misunderstanding, miscommunication, 
misappropriation, miss-everything... 
there is the backspace key.  

And if all else fails, 
and the words are too much: 
too far, too long, so long... 
there's always delete.  
And start again.

Paper is too forgiving, 
I've imagined how it feels: 
scribbled on, removed from, blotted out.  
And then discarded once it's been read, 
or not.  

I mean, how much paper is recycled 
that's never even been touched... 
till it's tossed in the shredder to be 
reshaped, remolded, reconstituted... 
to become something else.  

How many poems are written 
that never even get read.  
At least words spoken out loud 
have a chance if screamed... 
or whispered... 
loud enough, 
to get heard.

Yes, paper is too forgiving.

Sherry Lore
Sept. 2015