I am sure that I am liquid
poured into the smallest
most insignificant places
a terribly good binder and filler
I am sure that I am a liquid
that wants to be a solid
but is more on the way
to being gas.
I followed the cobblestone,
where years of shoe shod feet
tripped their paths to futures unsure
traipsing on uneven ground.
Eyes there--eager to see their journey's end
my own downcast.
Flooding the senses
the odor of crepes and sea
salty, pungent tinged with sweet,
sullen hope lilting on the breeze.
Friends, lovers walked with hands clasped.
What were we? Or what was I?
I saw the sunset dive
behind your camera lens.
And something died in me
--in foreign fashion.
Could you give me ship lap fences,
sultry nights amid stones that spoke Shakespeare's tales?
Where vines climbed with sure fingers
and English Ivy spilled its heart on it's sleeve,
there you were and I was caught unsure.
I fell in love with time itself, and you aged before my eyes.
If I had turned the clock on its hands,
would I have realized I was in love with your song?
At least I'll always have the music,
and now my hope--wings.
If a poet falls in love with you,
Don't take it for granted;
They don't write poetry
For just anyone, you know.
A writer often hits a block,
As they say, writer's block.
But the immortal writer, you know,
Immortal writers do not hit a block.
I guess that I am one of them,
Not exactly am I another gem,
But I am a bit too different than you.
Words just flow on paper,
When I need, they're here.
But I will not bluff, you know,
Not all my poems make sense.
Immortal writer, I may be,
Not the finest of them all,
But I do learn from all of you.
When I don't feel like writing, I just don't write.
I don't waste that time proclaiming that I hit a writer's block.
Also, I know that for many writers a writer's block exists.
I don't blame them, I am just jealous of them that they get something I never get.
My HP Poem #1451
Years of my tears dry to stale grit
Rusting my skin with crusting corrosions
of Yesterday's emotions frustrations devotions
With time, composting into a dirt coating
Renourishing layers of decomposition
Green seeds in germination with anticipation
Sprouting fresh roots of deeper perception
A Glowing. Growing. Living. New Me.