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ri Jan 2015
by Leslie Thomson

One night late after midnight,
A poet sat with pen in hand,
Surrounded by crumpled up paper,
No words came to his command.

In his house there crept a poem,
Full of smarm and beguiling;
Just out of reach of the poet,
It stood there, sardonically smiling.

“Do I elude you, poet?”
Said the poem with mocking tone,
“Do I keep you awake at night,
And won’t ever leave you alone?”

The poet snatched at the poem,
Which stayed outwith his grasp.
He cursed at the elusive creature,
Who laughed with a throaty rasp.

“Poem how did you get in here?
And why won’t you give me peace?”
Asked the poet of the poem,
“I am tired and need release.”

“Why do you evade my clutches?
And keep me awake so very disturbed?
After all, I am a poet;
I am King of the written word.”

“Oh such grand conceit,” mocked the poem,
“To think this is your life to choose.
You are the king of NOTHING;
You are but servant to the muse.”

“You know your mind is not your own,
And words are beyond your control.
You merely scribble what is dictated;
You will write what you are told.”

“It is true,” bemoaned the poet,
“I asked not to be entranced.
To spend time with words evading me,
And leading me in merry dance.”

“Yet I would never want to escape it,
For I love the written word so.
The muse has me in her clutches,
And I never want her to let go.”

“So you tell me poem,” said the poet,
Just what is a poor poet to do,
When I’m distracted day and night,
And haunted by creatures like you?”

“You try too hard at times,” said the poem,
“That is why we lead you on this chase.
Each poem is like a lover;
We must be ready to embrace.”

And the poem slipped into the poet’s clutch,
And only then did he understand,
That he would never be king or master,
The muse is always in command.

His mind at once was inspired
And he continued the work he planned;
Contented and filled with love,
For the poem in his hand.

So when you look for inspiring verse,
To enlighten your life or fulfil,
Remember a poem will not be forced;
It must come of its own free will.
He closed his account, I reposted his masterpiece.
  Jan 2015 ri
Jorge Love
I wish I could steal your sorrow
To make it moot and fill what's hollow
I wish I could heal those deep gashes
That left you broken into pieces

With a joy that could melt sadness
And peace to calm a raging anger
With health to make you whole again
And love that lasts forever

But my bleeding heart will not heal yours
Neither does my sorrow, Lessen that which you hold

See how I feel by how I love you
Take my kindness, Take My peace
Take my love and my joy
And my feelings will mirror yours
As they do even now
To all those abused or cut
ri Jul 2014
Gather around
and hear me preach.
Open your eyes
and see me teach
'bout a guy and girl
about fifty each
who to each other
the life they leech

Of so called love
they built a life
two chidlren a home
barely a strife.
But a silent intruder
an unseen knife
would come in between
this man and wife

The love they shared
was nowhere to see
when distractions ran out
and pride ran free,
not even their child's
heartbroken plea
could melt the ice
between he and she

Some years passed
of this icecold fight
they started to move
avoiding their sight
no talking or sharing
less turn on their spite
their children ignoring
it all out of fright

But they stayed together
in good times and bad
even though in most of them
someone got mad
their children learned
how to be  good lads
but also found out
that love's really sad

The message here is
that where love starts
it wont grow and continue
without work from its parts
Learn form this couple
and their hatred darts
In the end they left
four broken  hearts

In the end they left
four broken hearts.
ri Aug 2012
I do not mourn a dead shell
Nor grieve for lost words
I mourn something that lived
that now lives in our thoughts

I do not mourn a lost soul
Nor one that's in "the other side"
I grieve for the living memories
The ones that still live inside

I do not mourn a dead shell
Nor something left behind
'Cuz what lived can go on
In the stillness of my mind
ri Apr 2012
But sometimes those images
Don't stay for long
They can last ages
Still, they're gone

There's always a seed
That fastly dies
Sometimes a tree
Suddenly dries

Music in your head
Slowly fades away
Those tunes you hear
Don't always stay
Been a while since I wanted to write that....
ri Nov 2011
Inside my eyelids
I see you smile
Smiling meanwhile
I'm thinking about you

A seed sprouting
Is what I feel
Feeling so real
I'm thinking about you

Like catchy music
In my mind you lay
Laying all day
I'm thinkig about you

— The End —