Another poem shall be birthed
from the deepest corners of heart
revisiting the conversations and moments
once they filled the days and nights
now lay silent, away from the world
although wide awake
some parts of the soul is in slumber
only left with the words once spoken
they shall come to torment
till the pen is wielded
and the ink shall sketch the dark world

Desert of isolation,
sand and cactus,
carcass of imagination,
dead thoughts strewn.
I wander aimlessly,
scorching sun sets,
gentle breeze flows,
soothing moon glimmers,
weather turns mizzly,
desert blooms with
flowers of creativity.
I leave my bed,
sit at the table
with pen and paper.

My first lines dropped to draw up buckets
Of the sludge flooded to mind
Thus unfettered, to be normal again,
A sin only temporary.
But as time passes,
Thoughts emptied,
I find the well continues to fill
And the water, still black
Quite complementary

I'd like to see your poetry
I mean, truly see your work
The way you choose to dot your i's
Tells me what that dot is worth
Though, words still hold their meaning, I know that there is more -
Beyond our monotype - a sight to see, the truth adorn

Poetry can’t be a limitation
Words radiating the poet’s imagination
Transcending beyond mere understanding
Poetry mesmerizes the soul and heart
Words beyond the regular
Reading between the lines, to decipher
For Poetry shall remain forever
Lyrical hymns, always hummed by poem lovers
Surviving the centuries, and beyond
Poetry can pay tribute, to unspoken feelings
From poet to poet and from poems to poems
A rich legacy will weave intricate Art

There is a poem living in my head,
Anfractuous and organic its movements,
Oscillating free on the tongue when said,
Trickling viscosity, then it cements.
I reach out and pluck plumes from the unknown,
Devouring the delectable verse,
Mutter, murmur, and release a new moan,
The silence that follows is my old curse.
I seek out concepts to take me forward,
Like the idea of life after death,
How such things play on the mind, as they should,
Taking in a deep and meaningful breath.
Now lay next to me and fall fast asleep,
And dream sweet dreams all night, so I don’t weep.

If lines be given by playful muses,
And not from my own poetic labours,
Leaving trails in my mind that bemuses,
Following the flow of fortunes neighbours.
Then you’ll be waiting a long time for this,
A very long time, for they trek slowly,
But when they hit the target, they don’t miss,
And reveal those patterns that are holy.
However it shall come on flying wings,
Eventually I shall have what’s mine,
And I will bring to you, all that it brings,
Speaking the beauteous art that is fine.
Perfection found on the imperfect breeze,
And then seize the opportunity, seize.

What words to choose for a sudden inebriation?
A cacophony of lyrical opiates,
Amorous with the linguistic calculation,
Submerged in the mind, uttered copious.
Drunk on an emotion in the twilight,
Singing to all the crepuscular creatures,
Language lulling yet never refrains its delight,
Understood like words of the preachers.
That’s how but why?
Because beauty builds on aesthetics,
Through sounds spoken on high,
And rhyming reveal those familiar tricks.
By virtue of allurement construction,
At the hand of resonance raised,
And verse venture until destruction,
Into the silence which shall be praised.
If it is to be said then should it be plainly?
Then what of poets creatively conjuring?
I know why we offer words humanely,
Too create images that are conquering.

Cascading times,
Caressing forever,  
A deluge of chimes,
Powerful endeavour.

Glitter gleaming bright,
Like little stars,
Pin ****** in the night,
Revealing mental scars.

Try to ask myself “is it honest?
Is it pleasure?”
Because that’s what I want as an artist.
To create something I’ll treasure.