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A poem from My Eclectic Collection: Broken Reflection (From the Confines of my Mind) by

The at was a wonderful place to be today. Thank you to Lynne, Sarah, Amanda, Gill, Sandra, Jane, Ian, Jenny, Kelvin, Joy, Mary, Evie and the many others who spent their valued time and money on my . – at Birkenhead Priory

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A poem from My Eclectic Collection: Broken Reflection (From the Confines of my Mind) by

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What If There Was No Such Thing As Rain?

And tulipes didn’t grow in the Netherlands

Sad it’d be, to see the corn fields,

Without corn

Would hope disappear as well?

And the lovers, will they

Stick together?

Will you be here with me?

As you always promise me

By my side

Florence would lose its museums

And all religions would be somehow


Humans might unit for the first time

To bring back life to roses

Or would they even exist?

Poetry and music

And beautiful girls

Will they make you smile,

And dance?

Sweet angel of mine

Will your misery grow old?

Or would it magically,


-Chiheb Aimeur

What is “Meestaceesm”?

It’s imagination that asks: What could happen?
It is a another form of puzzling beauty
It is a rainbow without thorough description
It is the essence of all good stories
It is the glimmer of a glass marble
It is the pattern of clouds in the sky
It is tiny magic, in which we marvel
It is in the little things that fast go by
But while they last, oh!, such charm…
And such a gift to all… Who can see them…
Along with silliness bringing no harm
I call this essence “Meestaceesm”.

                                              —Ava Nerio (My Quest For Meestaceesm)

Happy and Alive?



A new life?


After all this time?

Is this real?

Is this true?

Is this a dream?

Mixed feelings




I’m still here?

I’m still alive?

I’m gonna make it?

I’m gonna survive?

This is real?

This is true?

I’m gonna be…happy?

Take Me Home

Been here for almost a year and yet everything is so unfamiliar. The people, the places, the school, the faces. It hurts me knowing that I’m never going to be whole again. Because my home isn’t here. It will never be here. My roots aren’t here. I was plucked from my home and planted in a foreign area. I can’t bloom. I’m wilting away. Day by day.


Laying in a cold wake

My fingers do throb with ache

For my harpsichord is out of tune

So I played till my fingers hewn

A harpsichord with no adoration

Leads to a life with no elation

Harpsichord I do play thee

For that is what she did to me

So I play you till my fingers hewn

Hoping to once again put my heart in tune