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I’d like to get to know, A fellow poet’s writing style
Especially After reading their poetry
for a while.
I am sure it would be interesting to know
How a fellow poet establishes
their; meter, form, and flow.

I realize all poems are unique
and use a different method, formula, tact
Finding that sweet spot is writing
for full impact
Since poetry can send us on a wild ride
It can be interesting to see the process from inside
At least it’s an interesting concept to ponder
As we let our minds wander

There are some poems this happens organically
While others are built mechanically.
I start my poem in draft mode
I capture the original essence and let
The poem gradually unfold

I leave it sit for a day
Then revisit the word play
Checking for spelling errors and flaws
Looking for that hook, vivid imagery,
Our personal flair that create affects in the land of Oz

When I think I’m almost there
I check the title to make sure it matches the Content with flare
The title is what brings the readers in
too want more?
Effectively it opens the door.
I look to see, I’f it’s aesthetically pleasing
Perhaps word art?, Tempting, teasing
I look at alignment: left  center, or right
Then I’m ready to put the poem to bed for the night.

When I feel It’s completed and ready to
share
I’m amazed ,I pulled it out of thin air.
A smile explodes with a resounding Holy Cow
Then I’m left with a yearning.
What do I do now?
I click on Draft Poems, and I begin
A silent smile and a big grin

All the steps of MĔGILLĀH are often preceded by the objective whole
While some might find this rigor can take its toll
It’s the steps that keep words under control

Byline;
Currently I have over 30 poems in draft mode. It stays there until I feel they’re ready to move and grow into what they’re meant to be. I’m great at concepts, but building a poem takes longer,
It can only go as fast as inspiration.
I’d rather have quality than quantity.
I have to write down my poem ideas
for future development.
Have you ever thought oh, that would be a great poem… but you don’t write it down, and the thoughts gone forever
Lost in obscurity
That’s my process for developing creativity
What is your writing process??
BET word of ;the day challenge 3-24-24
Websters word
Megillah
Means basically, the whole ball of wax
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

            A Book of Numbers with a Picture of a Naked Man

Once everyone owned a book of numbers
No, not the one in the Bible; that’s still in use
But a book of telephone numbers, four digits each
Although you knew your friends’ numbers anyway

On the cover stood a winged Mercury
A handsome man wearing a funny hat
And nothing else, but no one mentioned it
Too much else going on through the party line

A picture of a handsome naked man -
Really, you’d think someone would have noticed
Whenever I write
a poem, blood oozes out.
Why was I catching the fire?

The desire is to speak
short sentences to convey the
answer to black questions.

Slowly the empathy
works. The beautiful color of red blood
has many meanings. I said you were my blood.
love~worn to the extremity (get a dog)**


rare condition but not so rare,
that a first year intern might guess
the prognosis from visible symptoms,
the alternating listless groans, contextual
unexplained weeping, no singlized source
of pain but short hard stabbings in odd,
multiplex moving theaters of the brain ‘n body

slow onset, then signs manifest in increasing
rapidity, till your buddies attempt to drown
your context in a local pub, but to no avail,
just a guttural persistent wailing failing
where they beside themselves, send you home,
you’re tossed on your bed, to search for no rest,
for this malignancy is cured by lingering time,
and even then, it is a never fully excised tumor,
shedding bad humors, cells to witness to exist,
decades, a precursor to a life long disease, composing
just
one more bad lost love poem, a disease cancerous
in its aspect, look for the paling, waning now near
permanent discoloration around the eyes, and surely
you will have ease instantaneously recognizing me

get a dog they said, so I did, so now, two sad eyed
mail lowland mates, two basset hounds walking each
other on silent daily trip with no destination until
one of howls


olp
march 2024
You lovely creature hairy and
too eager to jump on me barely
in the front door. I've never been
loved this much my whole life.
Do you mind if I lie with you
as you die in the soft grass and
sunlight and remember chasing
tennis ***** in your dreams?
Rustatious
I've really enjoyed my stay
Brought tears of joy
To my day

I'd really would like to stay
But the flip of the coin
says , nay nay nay

You've all been so kind
Made it all worth
my time

But it can't be put off
a second longer
no time to scoff

Call me a supertramp
A hobo hologram
Call me anything
you'd like to stamp

Just don't call me
I'm the son of moonlight
Silent soft and free
~
Or migrated pod
       Or fleeing refugee
            Or corban
                  Or carbon dioxide
                       Or yubitsume
                            Or van Gogh's ear
                                 Or black Friday
                                      Or lazy evening at the carnival

                    (Tomorrow has already started)

Or free range
     Or gated community
          Or breast exam
               Or storage crisis
                    Or fallen leaves
                         Or germ warfare
                              Or temporary file
                                   Or permanent wave
                                        Or thigh gap
                                             Or physiognomy
                                                  Or soap made of heroes
                                                       Or multiplanetary living
                                                    
(There's a floating graveyard between this world and the next)

Or logical fallacy
     Or irrational number
          Or elementary analysis
               Or college guess
                    Or cardiopulmonary resuscitation
                         Or extrasensory perception
                              Or ten fingers and toes
                                   Or a dozen eggs

                  (They say there's strength in numbers)

Or fifth floor, corner room
     Or high as a kite
          Or bellwether
               Or mingled with bells
                    Or police sirens
                         Or loitering around in silent films
                              Or rule of thirds
                                   Or tombs of second-hand kings
                                        Or face in the rain
                                             Or pareidolia

(Otherwise, at first light you might be smiling...)

~
A magic spell to undo fear.
A charm to make care disappear.
An invocation against desolation.
An elixir for agitation.
Just three words I swear are true–
To repeat three times–”I love you.”
It works!
the clouds hang heavy

the mass, the clouds lay heavy, rain that came, that blinded again. blinded those that could not see the love and idle artefacts, each one a statement of nothing in particular.
 37m Traveler
Onoma
boar by name, inscrutable.

bit off its mouth, with its mouth--

to get to an apple seated on its

drooling tongue.

enchambered by tusks...violent

snap jaw breaks thru eyepopping

****** paralysis.

somewhere between spit & silver platter...

game & fixings.

the boar was wrenched from the terminus

of sleep--to put back to sleep the festivity

of its flesh.

once made aware of it.
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