Words

Sometimes when you read a verse
The words hit your soul hard
They make you wonder all night
“How can someone fabricate such a piece of art?”

The feeling each syllable holds
Gets carved into your heart
Words inspiring you to weave some of your own
Which might cause the ordinary populace to feel your warmth

With excitement flooding
You pick the quill only to wonder
Would your quill succeed in
Re-creating the magic
You recently witnessed?

You drop the quill
Not because of self-doubt
But because you just know
That some magic tricks only belong
With svelte magicians
And sometimes you yield sweet joy
In being touched by others
Just witnessing greatness…

Pessimism

A pit that will drown you is Pessimism

Those with glass houses occupying 10,000 acres

Of land are often found saying

A pit that is self-immolating

It can kill; make you struggle hard for breath

That is what Duncan, my next door neighbor

A life coach preaches

But for me it is the reality

The only thing seeming right in

This world quite wrong

Sanguinity might be beautiful but is unrealistic

Vineyards with grapes ripened and juicy

Mock my very existence, reminding me of

Felicity that I could possibly not conquer

Prima donnas , dressed like Monroe

Riding in their Porsche

Who prefer Sinatra’s ‘Fly me to the Moon’

Over ‘Only the Lonely’

Who speak of happiness and all things optimistic

When their souls are broken beyond repair

Contained with mercenary that wise don’t own

Hypocrisy flows through their demeanor (odium intended)

I for one cannot be colored

When my existence reminds only of blackness

If the touch of sunlight on my bare arms

Does not give me peace

Why should I pretend to be serene?

Why should I hide these dark

And morbid thoughts that turn into ink

Filling pages and pages

Covering the pages with fancy prose

Following inappropriate juxtaposition

Jeopardy it is as a few ignorant scholars

Tend to overlook these pages

Pages tattered like my soul

Highly contentious these words are considered

By those whose wisdom is shallow

Silence succumbs, making me

Wonder how terribly might speech

Sabotage their paradigm image

But these fancy unstitched stanzas

Sometimes free sometimes blank poetry

Unpolished proses bear the harsh truth

That this heart holds 

You are who you believe yourself to be

so don't think ill of yourself

think positive and things would

fall perfectly in place.....

follow your dreams, they know the way 

Being a Winner

Being a winner to me is not so much
about winning the Battle of Waterloo
Neither is it about defeating
the Axis Powers in WW2
Nor the heroism of Odysseus
after the Fall of Troy

It is to me something simpler but subtler
like the equanimity of Horatio in the Hamlet
or the fortitude of those who win unheard wars
Winners are those i'd say who in spite
of losing believe in the strength of their RESOLVE

My Heart

~Manu Mueller

“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart”
Julio is Julia’s love
Julio and Julia both are Portuguese
Former for namesake, latter at heart

Julio’s America born
Writer he is but no ordinary
Languages French, Portuguese, German, Spanish
All flow through his soul
Virtuoso is the word they use to describe his artistry
And it was for one of his poems that he won Julia’s heart

Poem was 'Meu Coração'
Recited it was in Lisbon, Portugal
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon
On a sunny busy day; Julia vividly remembered

Today was the day they stole each others' hearts
That is what led to this decision
Of trying a poem for her beloved
But the catch was she was trying to write in English
Her English was even worse than their old Spanish janitor

But she was not one to shy off from challenges
So she tried one more time-
“Julio is sweet
Julio is smart
Julio is a sweetheart
Julio makes me smile
Julio makes me laugh
Julio makes me blush
Julio makes me warm
Julio is my love
Julio is my heart
Julio is my heart”
The poem to her seemed terribly plain but effective
And no matter how hard she tried
It felt as if the words were stapled in her brain

And then she jumped like a kangaroo As the doorbell rang
Put on her slippers and hurried towards the door
Opened it and leaned forward to kiss him gently
She always knew when Julio was at the door

He was her Julio, her desire, her dream
Smiling at her, his eyes home to the bluest sea
They kissed again and this time more slowly
Letting the magic settle in the air more properly

Julia went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee
While Julio went to shower and as he removed his shirt
He saw a paper on the bed, bent he to hold it in his hand
And the lines on his face smoothened and turned into a nostalgic smile

Julia was busy making espresso Julio’s favorite
When Julio entered , the somehow, roulette shaped kitchen
With a paper in his hand on which stretched Julia’s curvy handwriting
“Oh! Wrote that poem for you I titled it ‘My Heart’
Not very flamboyant, simple like you
Hope you’d appreciate my hard work”
Said she, as if the words were sewn in her heart
Then all of a sudden both erupted into laughter
Laughter filled with a sweet secret each beheld
Lucky enough I was to have known their little secret
Years ago, similar words had crusaded Julia's heart
Near a beautiful eye catching lagoon;
On a sunny busy day in Lisbon, Portugal.