Copyright 2013 Melissa Reyes

My Rockin’ Style Choice, A Poem by Melissa Reyes

What I am Wearing

Does it matter what I am wearing?
I am so happy I have ceased caring;
What I have on may be considered daring.

I am wearing my “stinky shoes”
In a contest for pretty feet, I would surely lose!
Not even that would give me the blues.

My pants are severely out of style
I honestly haven’t worn them for a while;
I am clueless how they made it to the top of the pile.

Not that anyone would care,
The elastic is shot in my underwear;
It is time to get a brand new pair.

My T-shirt is old and worn out.
The stylish black shirt may give me some clout;
You definitely won’t see me pout.

This jacket may be the oldest article of clothing I own,
It is tattered and dusty and needs to be sewn;
I won’t be posting a pic from my phone!

My hair is pulled back in a ponytail,
A little lipstick keeps my face from looking pale;
I have finger nail polish on more than one nail.

My look is not at all pulled together,
I am just barely prepared for the weather;
Yet, there is one thing that I wear with pleasure.

Like a crocodile’s, it shines broad and wide,
I wear it with a great deal of pride;
The smile I am rocking today is bona fide!

Be Inspired, Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

Rain, a poem by Melissa Reyes


Tonight I did my very first public poetry reading.  It was at the Unurban Cafe in Santa Monica.  There is a Velvet Guerilla Cabaret there on Wednesday nights with an open mic.  It was a terrific experience.  After a good night’s sleep, I will write more about it.

This is a cool pic on instagram that I found of the Unurban:


Here is the poem I read aloud to a room of strangers. . .


What is that sound I hear?

Softly tapping,

lightly rap-a-tap-rapping?




mildly crackling.




clapping and smacking.

It’s raining outside.

I can hear it rain outside.

The rain sounds so sexy.

It’s getting more intense.

Coming down harder and faster.

Everything is getting wetter.

Very wet.

The air is thick

and I can feel

the dark


rain cloud

over me.

It’s moist and dense,

and very intense.

I take a breath.

A very slow



I can barely breathe.

It takes my breath away.

The rain is coming down very hard now.





swashy and splashy,

very fast.

I hear very big waves of water

in the distance

as they

wash in

and out.

The cloud is moving.

It is moving inside me.

The cloud is moving the rain away.

The sound of rain begins to mellow.



slower, still.


yet not as loud.



from the cloud.

Quietly falling

like a shroud

over me.

Lighter now

softly now




Misty rain

lightly falling,

whispering my name.

Soft kisses


lightly touching

fingers through my hair.

Breath on my skin,

breathing it all in.






dropping and dripping



draping over me

like soft, wet lips


caressing my eyelashes.

The air is cold and moist.

I am warm.

Everything is quiet now.

No sound

at all.

My thoughts are filled

with the words

I want to hear.

Say you love me. . .

Say that you love me.

Say to me the words I long for.

The rain is gone

but I am here.

Soft mist

lips kissing

fingertips caressing

silent glances


and I hear it!

What is that I hear?

Soft whisper in my ear.

“I love you.”

He loves me!

Hearts beating

rap-a-tap rapping

like rain,






by Melissa Reyes


Blog Venture, Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

You’re a poet. . . and don’t know it!

August is “Open Mic” Month for Miz Meliz! I will be hitting the open mic circuit this month and hoping to get my 3 min. of fame! Join me in my quest. What’s the worst that can happen? You could get some culture in your life. You might hear some great poetry. You could be inspired! Or, you might see me fall on my face! Either way, it should be entertaining and fun! Keep the calendar open for at least one location per week.

Friday, August 3rd 8:00 PM (Private Party)


Saturday, August 11th 5:00 PM
COFFEE AND CREPES BY VICKY​coffeeandcreepesbyvicky
4545 Cesar Chavez
Los Angeles, CA 90022

Wednesday, August 22nd 8:00 PM
The UnUrban Coffee Shop
3301 Pico Boulevard
Santa Monica, CA 90404

Tuesday, August 28th 9:00 PM
The Greenway Court Theater
544 N. Fairfax Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90036.

Be Inspired, Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

What Will Your Memories Be?

Poetry of Lucille Palmer

As you sit when you are old
In the firelight’s flickering glow;
When your blood runs thin and cold,

And you’re oh! so weak and slow,
What will your memories be?

Will you rest and smiling dream
Of long fled ecstasies?
Of loves, who present seem
A full life’s legacies —
What will your memories be?

Think of you crueler fate
Thank just to sit and blink,
And stolid, dumbly wait
For death — now’s the time to think.
What will your memories be?

Ah! drink life’s brimming cup;
Better far to glut and sate
Thank to give all pleasure up
And starve when it’s too late,
What will your memories be?

Artwork by Amy Garcia at
Be Inspired, Everything Miz Meliz, Home, Poems

It’s Like My Prayer

Life is a mystery, everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
And it feels like home

When you call my name it’s like a little prayer
I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour I can feel your power
Just like a prayer you know I’ll take you there

I hear your voice, it’s like an angel sighing
I have no choice, I hear your voice
Feels like flying
I close my eyes, oh God I think I’m falling
Out of the sky, I close my eyes
Heaven help me

Like a child you whisper softly to me
You’re in control just like a child
Now I’m dancing
It’s like a dream, no end and no beginning
You’re here with me, it’s like a dream
Let the choir sing

Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there
Just like a muse to me, you are a mystery
Just like a dream, you are not what you seem
Just like a prayer, no choice your voice can take me there

Just like a prayer, I’ll take you there
It’s like a dream to me

(Madonna/Like a Prayer)

Be Inspired, Poems

Mother’s Prayers

A Mother’s Prayer

Thank you, Lord,

for bringing my children into my life.

Help me guide them and teach them through example

to lead lives of wisdom

and strong, loving faith.

Please let them learn

to serve you always

in thought and deed.

And remind me, Lord,

to always be there

for my family

as you are always

there for me.


Mothers Plant the Seeds of Love 


Dear Mary,

Guide us so we grow strong in wisdom and grace.

Give us sight to see the talents God has given us,

the will to develop them,

and the generosity to share our talents with others.

Instill in us the desire to constantly learn,

the goodness to serve generously,

and the courage to follow where Jesus calls.

We pray for these blessings for ourselves,

for our children,

and for all of our family.

Grant us a Mother’s Blessing

and a Mother’s Care,

now and forever.


Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

I am Great

I was standing in a waiting room of a doctor’s office with my parents and my three little boys.  My mom was seeing the doctor.  My dad and I were entertaining the kids.  It had been about an hour when my mom finally came out.  As we stood at the counter waiting to make another appointment, I saw this posted to the wall in the receptionist’s workspace.  It was an 8 1/2 by 11 inch piece of paper that read, “I Am Great” and I read it out loud to my kids and my father.  When the clerk came to her desk I said, “I love that. I really needed to read that today!”  She said she wrote it when her kids were small.  Then she did a remarkable thing.  She took it off the wall and gave it to me.  Thank you Ms. Elizabeth!  Where ever you are!

Everything Miz Meliz, Poems

That Funky Tree



There is a palm tree

in the yard

across the street

from my house.

It’s one of those

strange old trees

with lots of layers

on it’s trunk

that sways in the wind.

The trunk of that tree

is brown and tan and black and gray

and it’s texture looks rough to the touch.

The other day

while I was getting in the shower

something caught my attention.

I was glancing out the bathroom window

and even through the glass and steam and water,

I could still see it.

It was that funky tree

across the street

and it encapsulated me.

As I glanced in its direction,

I noticed something unusual.

I had that feeling

that someone

was watching me

from that strange old funky tree.

For a moment it

looked like a woman

sitting on the roof

of the house

across the street.

She was sitting cross-legged,

like a yogi.

She posed tall,

back erect,

her head lifted,

body straight.

Her long arms were wrapped

about her legs

draping over alternate knees.

She was focussing

on something.

She was focused

on me!

She was watching me

from that funky tree.

Her long graying green hair

was wildly waving in the air.

Her body was still,

perfectly still,

as she sat there

watching me,

sizing me up,

studying me

from that funky tree.

I couldn’t stop looking that way.

I wanted to know what she had to say.

I tried to forget about it.

I finished my shower,

I got dressed.

Then entranced,

I had to look again.

I had to see what was happening

to the funky tree

that I could see

through my bathroom window

that is in the yard

of the house

across the street.

That weird old thing!

No longer a woman.

No, she was gone.

Not a tree either.

That tree has somehow morphed

into a new shape,

a new being.

I thought I saw a boy at first.

But it was a boy and a girl

in an embrace.

They were hugging and kissing,

their limbs interlaced.

Right there on top of the roof

of the house across the street,

right where that palm tree used to be!

What were they doing there

living life on the edge?

They had not a care in the world.

They were not aware of me at all

as I stared I watching them

sizing them up

studying them

right there

on that funky tree.

Then suddenly

my concentration broke.

I took a breath

as my mind awoke.

I needed to stop obsessing.

I promised myself

I would not look at it again.

Not even a glance,

I would not take that chance.

I was afraid of

what I might see

next time I look

at that funky tree.

Time passed

and seasons changed.

A new day dawned

as time elapsed.

I just happened

to look out the window

of my bathroom

at the house

across the street.

I could not help myself

at the tree, I glanced.

It was something new,

the colors were a pretty hue.

They were lighter shades

of brown

and gray and blue.

Then I saw him.

He was a wee lad.

He couldn’t be more than four or five.

There was a little boy peeking out

from behind it.

He was behind that funky tree

on the roof

of the house

across the street

playing peek-a-boo with me.

My thoughts raced,

“Hold on!  Don’t fall,”

as I watched him

grasping so gingerly

to the bright green leaves

of the funky tree.

He was laughing and giggling joyfully,

just looking around

seeing what he could see.

He climbed and dangled

from high atop

the old gray palm.

Playing a game of “I Spy,”


he took notice of me

looking at him,

through the window

of my bathroom,

watching him

sizing him up

studying him.

He laughed and grinned

as he ducked behind his fortress

and once again was hidden

behind that strange old tree.

He disappeared

from my view

it’s true.

He was so wise

under the guise

of that funky tree.

I said aloud,

“Go on little guy,

don’t worry why,

Go on and play,

I’ll see you again someday.”

A new day arrived

and I contrived

I would no longer be caught

in a web of thought.

That funky old tree

hasn’t any hold on me.

I would no longer ponder

over and over

about what was taking place

on the roof of the house

across the street.

Why not take a look

and see what I can see?

What could be happening

with that old palm tree?

Soft breezes blow

the faded golden branches

in the sun’s sweet glow.

Something called my name

as I peered through

the window pane,

I was drawn to the image

across the lane.

Ah, it is a woman again!

A lovely young lady,

holding her baby.

For a moment I consider

this apparition to be. . .

The Madonna and Child!

She could be Mother Earth

holding Baby Time!

Either way,

the vision is fine,

and the privilege is mine!

The transcendent femme

was holding him

tenderly in her arms

on the roof of the house

across the street,

however miraculously

that could be!

The babe was nursing,

suckling and thriving,

while living on the branches

of The Tree of Life.

The funky, strange, old tree

in the yard

of the house

across the street!

They appeared warm and free.

She smiled at him lovingly

as the wind blew through

her soft shiny hair.

The sun shone on her face

and she tightened her embrace.

They were alone in their bliss,

and I saw her don a kiss

on the head of her cherubim.

How could I be so incredibly proud?

They were not in the least

interested in me

as I uttered aloud,

“Go in peace, my angels,

Go in peace.”

In my heart they rest,

forever basking

in their timeless love

forsaking everything

that has or will ever exist –

at least that I myself

observed high above

in the yard

of the house

across the street

by that strange,






Melissa Reyes

original 5-23-02

revised 2-7-2012