The Perfect Cup ~ a collaboration of Art and Poetry

If I were blind, I would know she was here
Her perfume wafts through the shopโ€™s air
Breathing her in, my morning muse sparks
The lady whose latte is poured from my heart
A stainless steel pitcher warms in my palm
The steam raises the stakes for the perfect cup
My nerves tingle to wish her a good morning
Her smile captures mine, leaves me yearning
The aroma escapes from freshly pressed coffee
Filling it up with milk, steamy hot and frothy
Finishing it off with a heart shaped top

I present it to her, wait and watch
My anticipation climbs
And stops me from moving
Holding my breath
Until her first sip is taken
Like a kiss from sleep awaken

Other customers can wait, my heart just might break
My love for her is more than I can take
The rush hour line, is now out the door
But she’s the only beauty here on the floor
The look on her face, made mine drop
Perhaps I made it too steamy hot
Oh no, Iโ€™m hanging my head low
She doesnโ€™t like this coffee, itโ€™s clear, I know
But she whispers sweetly; letโ€™s try a new brew
Just so you know, Sir, I come here for you
And your heart, that you put on top

Drawing by ~ Mr. Modigliani
Poetry by ~ AntรถnyRรถs & Mr. Modigliani

A new collaboration.
I have admired Mr. Modigliani’s work for some time and his passion for life how it weaves through and touches the soul. He is no stranger to this community but if for some reason you have not crossed paths with Mr. M, please visit his blog Mr. Modigliani’s Private Studio
please visit and enjoy

Mr M, thank you for this opportunity to share a moment with you.

You Are My Poetryย 

Funny how little words stand out like the rising sun.  Calling birds to sing in the mornings grace.  The cool air from the nights slumbering face awakes.  As the trees sway, the thought of you comes my way. So, so far away, I can’t see but I can feel your hearts beating thunder.  Your soul as it flutters with a good, my hope for earth is renewed.  All it takes is one, to start the chain, effect that can change, one love, into many.  When the darkness comes, I hide, like so many of us.  Scared to take that step, which leads the walk that comes from talk.  Street lights and headlights, illuminating the way, where evil lives to breathe and play.  My mind is filthy, it stalks your lines.   It licks the very thought that comes to be from your poetry.   Your flowing words ignite a fire deep inside.   Erection, the effect, from the cause of reading your poetic affection.  



Perry Como did it, Bing did it too,
with the likes of Sammy Davis Jr.
and Sinatra singing the blues.

Tony Bennett was the hipster,
who got it on with some, real cool cats,
Bono with his shades and Amy’s high top, coiffed hair.

Elton and Bernie collaborating,
down the yellow brick road,
chasing that brown dirt cowboy.

Dr Dre and his posse, rounding up the neighbourhood,
rapping words to a beat,
two gangsters squaring off in the street.

Letters of love written from a poets heart,
Yeates would pen his words for her heart,
in reply, she would break his heart.

Where would Perrault’s Cinderella be now,
if her faerie godmother was never created,
by Rogers and Hammerstein’s musical play.

The left and the right, the black, the white
duets create an art,
even a subject does, to a painters brush.

A slut or a whore, who partners up,
for a joy, a ride, to dance and sing,
all for a chance, to mingle and fling.


this is a thank you to all Ive had the pleasure to collaborate with and everyone who visited, read, liked, commented…..๐Ÿ™โค๏ธ

Soared, Into The Wild

Where walls, dimly lit through hallways lay in sleep
The lockers lined all shut tight for the night
Drifting alone in a friendless place like home
Echoes of breaths, float in the air, a stagnant roam

It breaks at a sound of a crying dove
Caged and forgotten, lacking a love
The tears of a pain so grand it flows
Drowning the lungs, suffering, it froze

The word, Why, is constantly whispered
Between gulps of finding his composure
Mere inches away, separated by a door
Pressing to hear more

His beautiful tears shed the last of his spirit
Silence came in an instant
Breath holding

A shattered door now lay broken next to his body
Give life another chance
Wings spread, onyx black and it shined for him

The feathers waved as if a gush of wind came
It caressed the heart of this dying boy
As he lay motionless at the feet of Death himself
His angel raised a sword and followed through

Cut Death to the quick and yelled
This Boy Is Not For You
Into his arms he held this child
And soared into the wild


Sketch by Young Demon at deviantart

If I Were An Artist


If I were an artist, my words would melt into a pallet of colours
Waiting for my brush to stroke the flesh of a canvass
Fragrant fibers absorbing the heavenly hues like lovers

The sky would be blue with streaks of white clouds
Wings spread of a single blackbird gliding high above
Its feathers glow shimmering from the suns silken shrouds

A Sunday afternoon, inspired by a peaceful stare
The silence on faces echo, a moment captured in time
On the Island of La Grand Jatte, bathing in the suns care

If I were an artist, my words would hang on a staff of lines
Nestled between bars of notes that cry to be played
A serenade that would swoon the heart to gilded rhymes

Winds would howl, brass would blow, a lone piccolo would cry
Strings sound, the vibrations of the heart attached to a soul on fire
Drums beat, to a pounding march as boots stomp raising dust to the sky

A violin sighs long, spiraling through a cathedral lifting the steeple
Pointing to the heavens where angels reply with pleading harps
To soothe the ache of beasts that bleed by an act of evil

If I were an artist, my words would find comfort on pages lined
In the form of a sonnet that would please William to smile
Bound between covers stitched at the seams with silver twine

A prayer given with hope for the world to live in peace
Where love is the sole reason that spins the gravity of life
In warmth, mankind is wrapped in Gods Golden Fleece

The young would slumber to a faerie tale story
Words forever etched in their growing memories
In time creating their own tales of romance and divine comedy


images (3)

images (2)


I Can See Reasons


I can see a million reasons why this is wrong.
Me with you,
for a moment,
for a breath.

for all the wanton visions
that dance in my head,
and taste the dream, that intoxicates the senses.

I can see one reason why this is right.
For that one love,
to take it all,
uninhibited and free.

on the crest of a wave,
that leads over the ocean,
rolling onto your shore.

I can see no reasons why we just don’t.
Take a chance start off slow,
build up speed to fly
and carry on through the seasons.

Bitten by winters frost.
Thawed by springs blossom.
Bronzed by summers bliss.
Fed by autumns harvest.

I can see reasons why this is true.
With every beat,
that vibrates,
my chest echoes and aches.

Spinning my head like a merry-go-round.
Falling in love,
pulled to the ground,
all because of you.


Broken-A Duet withย Ax

I’ve had the honor of collaborating with Jennifer of INK AND QUILL before, the first time was a wonderful experience. This time, we both grew to appreciate the life we’ve been blessed to have and share, this stage with all of our friends here on wp. Yes YOU!! those who have dropped in to visit us, who have inspired us and who have supported us. For that, I know I may speak for Jennifer, we Thank You, humbly.

Dear Jennifer, no words, can a poet express to justify the admiration I have for you other than to say, thank you.

All my friends, if you do not know of Jennifer, please follow the link hereย INK AND QUILLย and enjoy the ride into a world where poetry is written not just by the moon and stars or by the waves that roll from shore to shore. Stand and gaze as the sun rises and sets, her light is the love and passion Jennifer fills with every letter strung to create her art.
Her Poetry.

Source: Broken-A Duet withย Ax