Okay, mon frere, my competitor, I see you have entered this Morning Coffee contest. Yours is lovely, then brutal, and in the end, bleak. Mine is cute, brutal, and in the end, funny. But mine has a secret ingredient: Coffee. Oh, I know, the rules say coffee OR tea are the liquids we honor — but MINE is COFFEE, and COFFEE is in the name of the contest, so I WIN! >THWEETT< (THAT'S A CARTOON inspired spitting action) So I win! hahahaHA! (that's a sarcastic laugh) Beside, Mine is about a cat and no one can tell a cat it's a loser and not be despised the rest of his life. Of course you can quit now (he said slyly) and save yourself the embarrassment of losing to a cat! (notice how I made the cat both powerful AND weak! How clever! Bonus points! Nice work though, BDB(P)

Powerfully penned, Peter. Excellent write my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.

Damian

Passionately penned, Brenda. Amazing write my friend. I saw Rob Zombie with Fear Factory in concert in 1998. Great show. Appreciate you.

This is sweat and stage-light devotion—desire roaring through amplifiers and shaking your ribs.
You kneel to the myth but keep your edge; the hunger is raw, but the awe is real.

This is excellent Fia!
Well done chica:)

Nah, I identify as a scraggly ol pine tree. LOL. But I love the sentiment expressed in this write! It is very clever with the ideas and imagery. it gives us hope!

hello lovely Fia someday we’ll be brand new again this is beautifully written ❤️

Beautifully penned, Fia. This is a lovely write my friend, always a fan of your musings. Appreciate you, cuz.

Damian

Oh damn, girl! This is a brilliant piece of writing. Not only the idea of roses, but each stage and facet of their existence…and we are indeed like them! 🌹

It’s a shame we can’t be new roses longer. We get older and look back at how we could have dome things better. But alas, we start to wilt and time goes on until we are dust once again. Good one Fia.

My grandmother (my mom’s mom) had rose bushes in her backyard and roses often found their way onto the dinning room table. I would help her sometimes with weeding and tilling the soil around the bushes. It was a fun job getting my hands dirty and listening to her tell stories of her life. Your poem reminded me of her and some pieces of my younger self came alive as I read. I think Fia, if we keep those memories in our minds we are always young for they make us who we have become.

Thanks for sharing this tender poem, Fia
-Curt

This is quite a refreshing piece.

My Grandma was called Rose and I was named after her.

I admire your connection to nature and the surroundings.

I find this exquisite and delicate in its own way.

Peaceful and pleasant read. x