Sunday, September 6, 2009

Cocktails and little crumbs

Life moves in and takes out
dreams, wishes, hopes and needs
and stirs and mixes cocktails
like a barman paid to be
a maker and creator.

It has no mind for me to sense
or heart to pump intent
but, oh, so diligent
it serves up and clears away
like one who doesn’t know
there always is a crumb or two
missed in the clean sweep.

Crumbs mix and meld in their own way
with the morning of the day
and catch in the oesophagus
of one who knows to breathe
the remainder and the residue
into the atmosphere.

And so into the twilight
crumbs scratch and irritate
and scratch and irritate
and scratch and irritate.

Night descends and shallow breath
skirts the crumbs of what is left
and brings unto the one who lives
a sense of silent happiness
that sometimes, sometimes not,
sweeps the crumbs into the bin
of “what the hell, I live”.

And after, long after,
the “sometimes not” grows bigger than
those everyday little crumbs
and that’s the way it goes
until happiness evolves
but never can it grow
when love like a little crumb
remains an irritation!


  1. The way you wrote this poem was just like you were talking to me, I really love your poetry Helen. It inspires people like me and I made a promise to my self to do my best every night I work. Hope to read more of these inspiring poem you create and thank you.

  2. Thank you, Timo, for your most encouraging comment. It's so nice to know that in some small way my "stories" make a difference. When I ... "grow up" I may write "real poetry" but then again I may not. :)
    Best wishes and thanks again,