CherryRhymes

The thread she sews comes in all hues Black, brown, white, green, yellow Pink, orange, purple, crimson and blue. Some of the threads are fine and thick, curly, messy, short, long and straight. Those are the threads that one has to put through in the tiny eye of a needle to mend torn suits and make new dresses to embroider the borders of pillow cases to mend the seams of coat and jackets As seasons change from warm summer to cool autumn so will our outfits change to prepare f

The art on canvass is both old and new painted in vibrant abstract geometric shapes and clear lines several years ago, hidden in the storage for years a girl splattered new paint over it. The sides were painted with pigments of colors from the earth from various places all over the world She found those colored pigments for free in a sidewalk The paint used belongs to a little child The thread, from a woman's sewing box The canvass was put in the sidewalk to be given for free

She sat in a cafe alone in the middle of the city She sat by the window and watched couples walk hand in hand. She heard the laughter of a family of tourists sitting next to my table. She smelled the scent of freshly brewed coffee waiting for her on the round table. She looked in her bag but found nothing but a pen There was no notebook or paper. She grabbed a tissue on the table and put the shapes of letters together She heard conversation of people sitting nearby. It ma

When I was 11 years old, there was an art project to use toothpicks With a pencil, I drew 4 hearts on wood 2 big and 2 small. One for each corner. I filled each heart with toothpicks. I copied Picasso's drawing of a Dove with olive branch and leaves on its beak. I put it in the middle. and outlined the bird with a toothpick.

We ponder on the witty conversations and exchange of ideas that stirs our minds We see the band play music in harmony We hear the bird's songs We see them on stage under the spotlight We heard the songs on the radio We saw them in books, in pictures in museums and television But there is nothing that compares when we see them alive in font of us My hearts beats to the rhythm There is nothing but sincere gratitude for the gifts of those who were here before us. Though some hop

I remember during on of my trips 12 years ago. It was late afternoon and the sun was about to set, I was standing in a pyramid glass building. I walked out of the door and saw light so bright like there was a spotlight I called to get my companion's attention to pause and look. I never saw such glowing radiant glistening light that I can't walk I stood there still just to marvel and be grateful. My companion rushed as it was time for dinner. I stood by the river and thought

I visited the birthplace of my great grandmother 18 years ago on my birthday I walked the streets in the country and saw statues of 3 children, a boy and 2 girls. I saw olive trees, fields, homes and candles lit for a Lady. I walked the city streets and heard music in the park. I tasted the delicacies of the land I climbed steps of castles of the past, Entered heavy wooden doors and iron gates that led me to see the works of human hands. My feet took me to climb on hills to v

I walked in the dark and in the light I walked night and day I walked when the sun sets I walked when the sun rises I walked in heat and in cold In sandals, sneakers and boots I walked in the streets, mountains and plains I walked barefoot in seashores I walked in the rain I feel every dew drop on my skin Without doubt, it was the wind that blew the feather to places it has never been

In the age of AI, I have no doubt in my mind that AI can make rhymes better than Cherry's rhymes. There will be no errors in spelling, grammar or punctuation marks. AI has stored in its memory all the poetry humans have made. Poems and books of authors some I never have read. AI will show me information in a click of a finger when I need them. The poems I make came from the depths of me like a surprise visitor, uninvited, shows up in a time I least expect it. In the age of AI

I see the little flower in her hair and grass skirts that shimmers when she sways. Her feet bare. She sways her arms and hips in unison to the beat. She twirled and wind caressed her face. Her face blushed from the sun's kiss. Lips colored from fruits of the vine of the now barren land. Her gaze is as tender as the night but only the stars in heaven can see. She dipped into the ocean of dreams that mean nothing to those who did not seek. The night has come. She wakes and wade