Welcome to the heartbeats between the lines. This is where my soul speaks in stanzas—where joy dances with vulnerability, where rhythm meets reflection, and where each verse is a whisper from my spirit to yours. These poems are love notes to my journey: midlife musings, desert dreams, sun-drenched affirmations, and soulful declarations of becoming.

So pour a cup of something warm, settle in, and let the words wrap around you like a favorite shawl—soft, vibrant, and full of truth.

Because poetry isn’t just something I write—
It’s something I live.

WHERE JOY BEGINS

A poem by Melanie Shires

In the quiet hush of morning light,
with curls kissed by the desert sun,
I rise, not to chase a perfect life,
but to dance with the beauty of this one.

Joy lives in bare feet on warm earth,
in coffee sipped slow with a side of dreams,
in laughter that spills like honeyed mirth
and soul-talk whispered between moonbeams.

Happiness isn’t loud, it hums,
a sacred rhythm in your chest,
a knowing that wherever you are,
you are already blessed.

It’s in the wildflowers growing crooked,
in the art of coloring outside the lines,
in the stories stitched through every scar
and the light that refuses not to shine.

So here’s to the soulful, the sweet, the free,
to the woman blooming endlessly.
She who spins her truth into golden thread,
and wears her joy like a crown on her head.

SHE WALKS IN COLOR

A poem by Melanie Shires

She walks in color, not in lines, with desert dust and daydreams in her eyes. A barefoot blaze of sacred flame,
never tamed, never quite the same.

Threads of fringe and whispers of gold,
she wears stories that haven’t yet been told.
With bangles that jingle like freedom's call,
and heartbeats stitched through it all.

She lives for the in-between moments,
the chai-sipping, stargazing, soul-glowing components.
Where art meets earth and sky meets skin,
and the real magic always comes from within.

Her joy isn’t quiet, it sings like wind chimes,
a harmony of now and nostalgic times.
She’s the muse and the maker, wild and wise,
a soul with cactus roots and kaleidoscope skies.

This is her rhythm, her sacred pace, a life of intention, not of race. Where boho isn’t just a look, it’s a vow:
To live freely, love deeply, and bloom right now.

I AM THE VIBE

A poem by Melanie Shires

I am the sun, brown and bold,
a soulful shimmer, honey gold.
Fifty plus years of sacred fire,
still rising, still lit with fierce desire.

This melanin? Magic kissed by sky.
This afro? A crown that defies and flies.
Each coil a story, each strand a song,
a rhythm of roots that’s deep and strong.

I walk in color, never beige,
in layers of linen and liberated sage.
Fringe, feathers, bangles that swing.
I wear my joy like a living, breathing thing.

I’ve painted my life outside the lines,
curled my dreams in poetic signs.
I laugh in full volume, I speak in light,
and dress like morning, wild and bright.

I am the maker, the muse, the spark,
a canvas of sunshine and magic and heart.
A boho-chic queen with desert soul,
who loves out loud and grows whole.

So don’t call this aging, call it art.
Each year a brushstroke on my heart.
I’m not fading, I’m becoming more—
opening wide like a painted door.

Step through, if you will,
into my joy, my truth, my technicolor thrill.
This is my essence, this is my song:
I am the vibe. I’ve been it all along.

HER BECOMING

A poem by Melanie Shires

I am not growing old, I am growing radiant.

A midlife sunflower, golden and free,
turning my face to the warmth of me.
Rooted in lessons, watered by tears,
blossoming boldly through the wildest years.

I don’t chase youth, I toast to time,
to laugh lines that sing and hips that chime.
To silver strands like stardust threads,
each one a story, not something to shed.

I wear my spirit in bohemian flow,
wrapped in color, rhythm, and soul.
I speak in affirmations and vintage rings,
I walk with purpose and barefoot wings.

Midlife, for me, is a sacred becoming,
a slow unfurling, not a race or a running.
It’s knowing my worth with unshaken grace,
and loving this chapter as my favorite place.

So here I am, no longer seeking,
just being.
A free-spirited woman,
in full bloom, mid-breath,
still joyfully becoming.

THE QUIET RISE

A poem by Melanie Shires

There were seasons I whispered instead of roared,
when my spirit felt weathered, my soul unsure.
But even then, beneath the ache,
there lived a flicker no storm could take.

I’ve sat with silence, brewed tea with my pain,
learned the art of dancing in the rain.
Not every battle leaves a scar,
some become lanterns where the shadows are.

I’ve wandered through nights thick with doubt,
but morning always found a way out.
And somewhere between the tears and grace,
I made peace with every misplaced pace.

Now I know: strength can be soft.
It hums in healing, not just in loft.
It’s the deep breath before the leap,
the roots you grow when you lose sleep.

So I walk gently—with eyes wide and wise,
wearing the lessons I once tried to disguise.
I do not fear the winding road,
I carry sunlight, and I’ve let go of heavy loads.

Because joy, for me, was never loud,
it was earned in silence,
and worn like a crown.

DESERT DAUGHTER

A poem by Melanie Shires

I am a daughter of desert light, of sun-soaked mornings and velvet night.
Where the sky blushes in pinks and golds,
and every hue has a story to be told.

Arizona cradles my soul with heat,
dust on my boots, peace at my feet.
I’ve learned from cactus how to bloom with grace,
and greet each day with an upturned face.

The mountains wear purple like a prayer,
a hush of stillness hanging in the air.
Their silhouette at dusk feels like a song, a steady reminder of where I belong.

The wind here speaks in sacred tones,
whispers secrets to the sun-bleached stones.
And I, a wanderer with colors in my hair,
find sanctuary in this open air.

I gather joy like desert sage, savoring this radiant midlife stage.
My heart beats slow to canyon drums,
where creativity spills and soulfulness comes.

This land doesn’t rush, neither do I.
We rise with purpose. We paint the sky.
This is my home, my light, my muse,
bathed in amber, rose, and sunlit blues.

MY SACRED SPACE

A poem by Melanie Shires

There is a corner of the world
that belongs only to me,
where time slows,
and spirit breathes free.

A candle flickers like a heartbeat,
soft and sure,
its flame dancing prayers
on incense-poured air.

Here, the noise quiets.
The world steps back.
And I come home
to center, to soul, to track.

A velvet pillow cradles my spine,
a mug of tea warms my hands like sunshine.
Journals open like old friends waiting,
pen in hand, no hesitating.

The scent of sandalwood drapes the air,
wrapped in whispers and lavender care.
Here, I shed the weight I do not need,
the rushing, the proving, the ache to succeed.

I speak gently to the mirror within,
and she smiles back, soft as skin.
No mask, no show, no one to be,
just me, unapologetically me.

This space is stitched in love and light,
where moon meets muse,
and day meets night.

And though the world may spin outside,
within these walls, I rise aligned.
This is my temple, my sacred grace,
a quiet, candlelit, soul-safe place.