Monday, January 31, 2011

When Chocolate Fell from the Sky


It’s a beautiful warm summer day
In the middle of July
I’m sitting under my cherry tree
Playing my guitar

I pluck each string harmoniously
The notes are pure and clear
The birds are singing to my song
Their words are perfectly paired

The cherries are ripe upon my tree
A lovely shade of red
I smell their delicious aroma
And taste their heavenly flesh

I pause a moment....close my eyes
The wind is caressing my hair
The sun disappears behind my eyelids
Replaced with big brown clouds

It starts to rain, but to my surprise
It’s raining Hershey® kisses
The heat of the day is softening them
They are melting upon my tree

Each cherry is drenched in chocolate
Encompassing each sweet piece
Yet despite the heat the chocolate hardens
Into delectable sweet treats

I'll call them Sherry Blossoms
They're cherries from my tree
Covered with a million kisses
What a glorious scene.

I open my eyes to realize
‘twas all but a sweet dream
As my eyes adjust to the sun
I’m quite delighted to see
A box of cherry chocolates
Set down in front of me.

Treats are meant for sharing
there's plenty to go around
I invite you to have a cherry chocolate
A treat for you and me.
© Sherry Irvine – January 31, 2011

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Thursday Think Tank #33 - Fire in your Heart

IMAGE CREDIT:  POETS UNIT - Thursday Think Tank #33

A fire burns within your heart
As I hold you in my hand
Your spicy heat is sexy
As I caress your silky skin

Your seed is hot against my lips
Our love should be forbidden
Your passion makes my heart burn
And tears fall from my eyes

I quiver with the thought of it
You make me love you more
Our hearts are beating faster
I need to catch my breath



2 TBSP finely chopped onion
2 small cloves of garlic
3 large ripe tomatoes chopped, peel & seeds removed
2 hot chile peppers
2 TBSP cilantro chopped
2 TBSP lime juice
salt and pepper to taste

© Sherry Irvine – January 27, 2011



When she was nine, the teacher assigned
The children to write a poem
"Any subject will be perfectly fine.
Think about it on your way home."

Pondering about it all that night
She thought about some topics
What exactly should she write?
How about a poem about a carrot?

It sounded kind of silly
This is what came to mind
She could have written about a lilly
But THE CARROT will be fine.

She struggled to find the right words
And doesn’t remember how it went
They came at last,  'tho a bit absurd
But sees now what it represents

As an adult she meets a woman
Who tells her she should write
The woman with the spiritual plan
Has completely changed her life

What?  She’s never really written
But she picks up her pen to write
Her spirit a purring kitten
THE CARROT is brought back to life


(rewritten by the adult in the story....the original child's poem is lost)

He planted a special carrot seed
In the moist rich earth
Amongst the parsley and trumpet weed
To grow until it's birth

Carefully nurturing it every day
He waters it with the sun and moon
In His garden the faeries play
Anticipating the harvest soon

The Angels uproot the carrot
At the most perfect time
Food for the stomach and food for thought
So wonderfully divine

© Sherry Irvine – January 27, 2011

Thanks to Sherry Braine for her support -

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


Mag 50 - inspiration picture provided by

A woolen blanket is placed upon her back
Throw on the saddle, adjust the straps
I mount my horse for a winter’s ride
On a cold, frosty day for a ride outside.

Out of the barn and out in the cold
There is a wooded path I know
Turn to the right --- the path’s right there
“ttsk ttsk” I say to my beautiful mare

I feel her steady ramble underneath my seat
The feel of her movement is so very sweet
A strong gentle being riding with me
We are one with each other – we are free

We round the corner to the farmer’s field
For miles and miles the snow conceals
Last year’s crop lay brown and crisp
Frozen by Old Man Winter’s kiss

I gently pull back my horse’s reigns
“Whoa” I say as she stops in the lane
We pause a moment to feel the peace
To silence the snow beneath her feet

The trees are bare, the birds are silent
The sky is as white, the wind is dormant
It’s time to head back to the big red barn
Where inside winter is but a charm

I tugged the reigns to make the right turn
A nudge to her flank to help her spurn
“ttsk ttsk” I say to my beautiful mare
Turn to the right --- the path’s right there

Friday, January 21, 2011


I was listening to Funky Friday's on my favourite radio station and a thought popped into my head.    Remember the old show Soul Train?   The beautiful dark skinned people doing the Boogie Woogie dancing to all the funk and disco songs?  Here's my funky white girl spiritual take:

I hop on board the Soul Train
Down the aisles I go
Looking for my special seat
To rest my weary prose

I find my seat,  I choose to sit
I think I'll sit awhile
After a short nap, I awaken
To people dancing in the aisles!

Sitting on the sidelines
Doesn't get me anywhere
I get up and get my groove on
Swingin' out my fine blond hair

The music is hypnotic
I want to shake my groove
My aura bumps your aura
In an attempt to make my move

Our energies connected
My heart feels the beat
Can you feel the funky music?
Feel the souls of your feet?

My hands and feet start movin'
I'm groovin to life's funky tune
I'm dancin' and a groovin' all the way
And looking right at YOU!

We are on the Soul Train
Dancing down the aisles
You choose, I choose
To groove the heavenly miles

Sherry Irvine - January 21, 2011

CREDIT for the photo:

The Fog Horn

I remember as a little girl
no more than 8 or 9
travelling with my Nana
when summers were long
and days were full of time

We happened to be in Sydney
The place where I was born
I would wake up every morning
to the sound of the big Fog Horn


I wondered what this sound was
so I asked my Nana to explain
she told me it was a Fog Horn
to keep the ships at bay


She took my hand and off we went
on this foggy morn
Maybe we'd find the lighthouse
where the Fog Horn noise was born


The smell of the ocean was very strong
I could smell the salt and fish
it was still rather foggy
so I played on the rocks for a bit.


The sound of the Fog Horn was haunting
as I played upon the rocks
the memory of it warms me now
as I remember this childhood thought


Later in the  morning
the fog had cleared away
revealing itself to a
beautiful summer's day

A little girl and her Nana
would take the day to play
to find the special lighthouse
where a Fog Horn memory lays.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Thursday Think Tank #32 - As Time Goes By

We were but young teens
When I first saw your face
And then you disappeared
Only to place a red rose in my fire place

As time goes by
“A Kiss is just a kiss”
That can't be true because.... 

I fell into your eyes
You took me to a place
Dancing to moonlight songs
Among the stars and space

As time goes by
We still live in that space
Dancing to moonlight songs
Our love is fully embraced

As time goes by
We grow older and we age with grace
We may dance a little slower
But our memories are still in place

As time goes by
The hands of time they touch the old clock face
But we will keep on dancing
When we move to the other place.

© Sherry Irvine – January 20, 2011

CREDITS:  this image provided by:

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

7686 - A Fallen Angel

7686 is the badge # of the policeman that was killed by a guy who stole a snow plow and ran him over.  12,000 officers from across North America attended his funeral yesterday 1-18-11 in Toronto - many were wearing his badge #. 

12,000 angels descended in Toronto
To honour an officer slain
Rundown by a madman
One person sadly insane

He leaves a loving wife
and a 2 year old son
broken hearts are many
Painful mending has begun

I never met this man before
I just knew I had to write
Their grief I understand
There will be lots of lonely nights

The sudden loss of a loved one
Is a terrible pain to bare
It happened to my family
Lamenting life’s not fair

My heart goes out to this family
Who lost a husband, brother, son
Be comforted by the notion
That he’s comforted by The One.

© Sherry Irvine – January 19, 2011

Monday, January 17, 2011

Music Love Making

Mag 48
Your right hand leads the melody
 Your left hand holds the rhythm
Your voice cries out
loud, louder, loudest

f   Forte   f
ff   Fortissimo   ff
fff   Fortississimo  fff

and then
You give way to a gentle softness

< Messa di voce >
giving me goosebumps
making me cry softly

p    Piano   p
pp   Pianissimo   pp
ppp   Pianississimo   ppp

Crotchet rest alt plain-svg.svg

I rest now
and sigh with the pleasure of it

Sherry Irvine - January 17, 2011

I am a Wildflower

I am a wildflower
I am different

I was once an addict.
To pesticides.
After a solitary intervention
I moved to another place
Where I would be free to live clean.
No pesticides for me.

One day after my recovery
I noticed a beautiful rock
Laying next to me.
He looked at me
With such gentleness
That I wilted with joy.

I call him My Rock.
My Rock comforts me
When the sun goes down.
He holds me in his arms
And speaks to me with such tenderness
 That I blossom a million blossoms

When my petals fall
He is there to hold them.
When I feel sad or lonely
He is there.
When I am naked to the elements
He is there protecting me.

He tells me he loves me.
I am nourished by this sentiment.
He feeds my soul.
He is my best friend.
My Rock.
He loves me because I am me.

I am a wildflower
I am different
I am free
© Sherry Irvine – January 17, 2011

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Vignette of a Writer

1:34 a.m.

He leaves half a sandwich on the plate
Instead he mixes a fresh Crown and ginger
with a slice of lime
While his cigarette burns lazily in the ashtray


1:45 a.m.

He is tired
But sleep eludes him
He rubs his tired eyes with yellowed fingers
He needs inspiration.

He holds the glass, swirling the gold liquid
The ice cubes knocking and plinking
His finger circles the edge of the glass
He takes delight in this small pleasure

He draws in on his cigarette
Breathing the smoke deeply
He exhales dramatically
The blue smoke rushing to the ceiling

Ahhh…..the senses are awakened.


1:50 a.m.

He sits in front of his computer
Contemplating his next words
He types
“Argh. Grub mud you deroo raw jeen ack rah!”
He leans back into his chair
Hands clasped behind his head
He smiles
This….makes perfect sense.


© Sherry Irvine – January 14, 2011

Friday, January 14, 2011

Thursday Think Tank; Random deviations; In by devilounet

When the picture presented itself
I was a little shocked
Why is this chick In the bathtub?
This is a load of crock.

At first I thought this was porno
But then I saw her clothes
Was this some sort of fetish?
Only You-Know-Who knows.

I could make up Any Story
About this chick In the tub
Her sittIng there cross legged
With hope the tub is scrubbed


“Welcome to my bathroom
Come sit Inside my tub
I’ll take a funny picture”
Says the weird guy with the chubb


My bathtub is my sanctuary
I come here to relax
I like the feel of the porcelIn
AgaInst my achIng back


Sometimes I light the candles
To meditate In peace
It’s quiet In the bathtub
While I contemplate my feet


Goodbye Little Miss Chicky
SittIng Cross legged In the tub
I don’t know what your story is
Have a nice day my love.
© Sherry Irvine – January 14, 2011

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Interview with a Butterfly

I flutter about, from one to another
Then I see you from afar
I am attracted to your vibrant colour.
I hover for a brief moment
Then rest upon your newly opened bud.
I let the sun warm my weary wings
As I drink the sweet nectar of your expression

The pollen from another is sticky on my feet
I need to infuse you with these seeds
So you will reproduce and feed me once more
I wish I could be faithful to you only
But you know I have to kiss another to live.

So to remember me, my love
I leave a special gift for you
Underneath your tender green leaf
A gift endearing from my heart
I offer you a silken purse
Filled with faces just like mine.

© Sherry Irvine – January 11, 2011

Monday, January 10, 2011

Black Velvet

I am sitting on the edge
Somewhere where I shouldn’t be
It is foolish of me I know
But I do it anyway

The wake of another
Forces me to fall.
Initially it is cold
It’s grasp is sure and forceful
It wants me.
Pulling me into depths unknown to me

I try to reach the top
But I can’t seem to reach far enough
It’s cool velvety arms embrace me
It’s blackness takes my breath away

I hear the muffled cries of children
This is certainly not my intention
But there is nothing I can do now
Only know that I did my best

I know I will not be forgotten
My daughter will keep me alive
Her words will comfort the others
As I ascend toward the light
That I now call my home.

The Story of Christina

My name is Christina.  This is my story.
I was born in China along with a million others, just like me.
Some of us were selected to go over seas – to the Americas.
We were the special ones. 
We made our way across the sea.
Most days were calm.
Some days were so rocky that I thought the ship would come apart.
The water constantly pounded against the ship.
The ship creaked and popped like crazy.
The quarters where we were staying were dark and cramped.
We were situated at the bottom of the ship.
We were cargo amongst the animals.
We had to stick together to survive.
We did not see the daylight. 

We arrive to the Americas and are removed from the boat.
We are handled quite brutally. 
Our bodies are so stiff from the long journey.
We are not sure what is happening.
Where are we going?  What will we be doing?
We wonder about our fate and why we were brought here.
Then we are sold.
Sold like slaves.  We will work long hard hours for no pay.
A few of us are taken and placed in the back of a van.
There are maybe six or seven of us.  I can’t tell exactly.
I can’t see.  It is dark again.
Someone’s foot is in my eye.
The van has no windows in the back.

At last I am taken to my office with the big window.
I travelled a thousand miles to get here.
It is glorious.
I am given nice clothes to wear and a fancy purse to carry.
I am young.  I am beautiful.
My perfectly painted skin is smooth and glowing.
I wear false lashes to enhance my eyes.
I have a nice body with perfect breasts and a small waist.
My hips are exactly proportionate.  I am tall.  My tummy is flat.
My job is to sell with my body.

I work hard for my employer.  Selling and selling.
I stand for very long periods of time.
Sometimes it feels like eternity.
I cannot move for fear it will shatter the illusion of who I am.
If I do not work hard, they will get rid of me
If I do not look beautiful, they will get rid of me
So I stand for very long periods of time.

I learn alot about life while I’m working
My job gives me plenty of time to observe everything
I stand and watch the people from my office with the big window.
Sometimes there is a parade.
People are dressed in colourful costumes
Prancing and waving.  It is delicious.
The music is loud.
The sound of drums beat into my heart
But mostly I watch the everyday people.
People are interesting.

One day a young couple was looking at me.
They were looking and staring at me.
They looked at me for quite some time.
I felt their eyes boring into my soul from the outside in.
They examine me from head to toe.  Talking.  Laughing.
Then they turned and kissed each other on the mouth.
The kiss is long, slow and lingering
The sensation of this made me tremble a little inside.
I have never been kissed before. 
I do not know the feeling of warm flesh upon my lips.

Another time I saw two men arguing. 
I felt the vibration of their argument through the window.
It touched me.  Frightened me.

Sometimes I would see homeless people with tattered coffee cups
Their old worn out blankets wrapped around thin shoulders
They held out their cups asking for spare change.
Some people would toss a quarter or two but most walked by.
I felt sad and I wanted to cry but the tears would not come.

I am working in my office with the big window
Wearing the beautiful clothes
Carrying the beautiful bags
I had am there for a long time.
My life is good.

One day I am removed from the window and stripped.
Abrubtly.  Roughly.
They dropped me as they savagely remove my clothes
I hit the floor hard.
They stood over me for a moment.
I was broken.
It was awkward and painful.
My skin had cracked
Fingernails broken
My toes chipped.
I was broken and devastated.
This moment changed my life forever.

I was moved to another office.
One without a window.
There were others here, just like me.
We were all broken.
We would look at each other.
We could not speak through our pain.
We were cold.  Naked.  Exposed.
We were in the land of Unwanted.
A long period of time went by.

Our employer came for us.
We thought that we were saved.
The thought of this gave us hope.
But our elation was short-lived.
We were sold again.
I was taken.  Alone.
I was thrown into the backseat of a car.
I stared at the puffy ceiling and counted the tiny holes.

I am taken to an office with a big window.
But I would not be working there.
I was no longer beautiful.
My skin was cracked.
My fingernails broken.
My eyelashes missing.
They put me in the back office.
They dress me in unfashionable clothing.
I carry a purse that smells of old cigarettes.
I stand for long periods of time.

To pass the time I observe the people.
An old woman was standing near me.
She was disheveled.
Her dyed orange hair was greasy and not brushed.
She had not showered for days.
She took my purse and put it under her coat.
Later I saw that she was escorted from the store
She was told never to return.
My purse was returned to me.
I wasn’t there very long at this place.

I was taken from my spot at the back
And transferred to a big warehouse.
There were others here, just like me.
We were all broken.
I look at the sea of broken body parts.
Torsos missing their heads
Arms and legs pointing in every direction
Naked breasts exposed
I was thrown into the pile of others, just like me.
Used and rendered useless.
We were nothing but trash.
Our working life cycle completed.
I travelled a thousand miles to get here?

I live in the landfill.
I will live for ten thousand years
Before the earth will claim me as hers.
I will be here longer than the flesh of 10 billion people.
I will survive
With my cracked skin
My broken fingernails and my chipped toes
I will survive. my life as a mannequin.

© Sherry Irvine – January 6, 2010