Caring burden returning
coming performance journey
morning lurking hurting
forming burden concerning

treasure lesser forever
severed december weather
shiver sweater savior
winter cover endeavor

constant distance persistent
system permission twisted
instant instinct listen
coldest living existence

This style is... 2-2-3, 2-3-2, 2-2-2, 2-2-3(syllables) Each line must be three words. This form seems to make for a good flow.

As you may know, I continue to collaborate with other poets here, most frequently with Helen.  Below is a poem of hers that I have edited and reworked, her original notes to me are contained in the notes section below.  So if you like it, tell Helen. If you "choke" on it, tell the editor. That's why they pay us the big bucks! So, send me your scraps yearning to be free...

I am choking
on words.

chest clogged,
throat seized,
as I await to deplane,
when I will perforce,
speak these words,
but for now, held in a
prison garb of my own design.

organs can be donated,
the broken heart,
the shattered liver,
the kidney failing,
eyes for the blind,
lungs for the breathless.

the human psyche
is not replaceable.

I need a mind of titanium,
will gladly settle for either the
Tin-man's heart, or
Cowardly Lion's courage,
both, too much too hope for...

but they are not sold at the airport shops.

perhaps my unseen editor
will accompany me,
hand firmly on my writing elbow,
guiding, refining, selecting
les mot parfait...

How come?
How come everything
inside a body can be replaced
so artfully, artificially
except words inside a broken mind?

I cannot get these words out,
who can transplant a soul?

On a cold winter’s night,
The ground white with snow,
Laura thought of a friend,
She lost so long, long ago.

Through her bedroom window,
Gazing longingly at the sky,
She wished upon the stars,
For a carpet that could fly.

If she owned such a carpet,
Perhaps, for a little while,
She would make a journey,
Travelling mile after mile.

Watched by moon and stars,
She would fly far, far away,
To visit her long lost friend,
It would be such a special day.

Laura’s thoughts escaped,
As on the carpet she flew,
And through make-belief
She made her wish come true.

On a cold winter’s night,
The ground white with snow,
Laura thought of a friend,
She lost so long, long ago.

© Paul Chafer 2014

"Ate my guts
Devoured my mind
Ripped into my soul
Stole my life
Now you
Want to silence
My voice"