Musings shapeshift into intricate words that fall into place and make beautiful songs which travel along Continents Consciousness Vibrations and Waves free as the birds once alight, resonate with bodies and souls. Trusting the journey is a curious adventure, not a God complex, a Writer is but a facilitator, allowing our innermost turn into artwork, delicate necklace that hangs ‘round the throat.
Most days I sit somewhere Between Thinking about tying a rope Around my ceiling fan And then Being greatful for the Love I get to experience as Your mother because I live this life But I make sure You never know the first part
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
I’m buried in a cocoon of stories From poetry, To biographies, To dystopia, And romance So many stories Of so many people Real, Or just figments of the author’s Imagination Sitting atop wooden bookshelves Waiting for the right person, To pick them up And get lost in their story For everyone has a story to tell, Some are overly exaggerated, And other’s are rarely heard The important thing is That we share our stories Through word of mouth, The internet, Or in a notebook To be found by future historians Tell your story Believe me, you won’t regret it
Calvino writes about cities. invisible cities, cities of memory, of desire, of mirrored eyes. cities, which are easy to get lost in. he writes about cities within cities with lost names and cities of ever-dying inhabitants. cities, in which, if you stay too long you end up forgetting yourself. i think there must be cities of wonder, of escape, of dreams within dreams, cities in which my grief buries itself and forgets my name. i wonder if such things are possible. the longer i stay in the pages, the more cities i become. cities which no one ever sees. cities which are still a part of me nonetheless.
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
What I see I might not comprehend My vision could be fogged till the end It's hazy, It's unclear I don't know what's ahead A fox, a tiger or even a bear I could be dreaming, right in my bed I wish I could be one of those that can see with their eyes unclouded Their vision clear and unbounded.
I sit next to small crescent shadows Delightful celestial fragments Soak the ground under the tree
There are people in the lake: Swimming into the obscured lagoon Totality opens as crickets start to sing Awakening a brief transition into twilight The lake is still as gazes draw upward, Separating ourselves from the earth Eclipse watchers float in the serene.
It was the day when shattered plate shadows spread like the root system of a tree Across the country and onto my wooden front porch
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
Whether a comma, or colon: Punctuation slows my rolling I need no period. When I end no Capitalization when I begin Rulelessly I flow my art Not a single! Exclamation mark Are you not the one Who'll know? Where a question mark No longer goes
Warp the structure Bend the lines Put in repeat Let emotion unwind Make yourself Your poetry's the best Be your own ruler Pass your own test
Take your own road Where ever it leads Lover or hater It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim .
Hay No matter who you are You have my deepest respect!
Vanity All is vanity The meanings of passion The aesthetic expression The lines we draw and stay within Even love is beyond intent Vanity transcends Flowing from our pens And so we breathe again
Tonight I hugged an angel And it made my night As she looked me in the eyes And held me real tight I sang to her a song And I saw her dance As her stunning beauty Had me in a trance Tonight I met an angel And she made me so happy Tonight I was in heaven Because she talked to me