You are Amazing , Inspiring, and Encouraging thank you.
You are Gifted, with an lots of Love and using it to Help others.
For Our Gifts were created to help others to see God through them.
I see your beautiful and inspiring words in helping out others here.
For even the sad poem of Pain can be use to reveal that you are strong.
For so many allow the evil depression or situation that they are in.
To end up driving them to end up destroying the most precious gift.
Their Lives, but through each of your words, hopefully it shall reveal...
That Life here is too Precious to throw away, because we are meant to lean on each other here.
To help each other and to love each other and become stronger, and wiser.

Your words echo
Beautiful and violent
Deep within my everything
I ache
Wanting, needing, yearning
Words and feelings
Impossibly out of reach
Thank you

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

A poet is no more than a person
A mother
A daughter
A lover  
Someone needing release
Or someone needing to recover


It’s the art they create when that ball of ink or stick of led dances on the canvas they so perfectly prepared.
And when the end result and their purpose become perfectly paired.

Truly gifted poets
Straddle their crafts early on
Some even in adolescence
They have been cursed or blessed
To be kings and queens of utterance.
I never dreamed of becoming a poet
It was furthest from my mind
Then in a sudden twist of eardrum
It happened in my mid thirties.

Out of the recesses of Time
Came the lure and a hook
Shining in enchanted brook
And before i knew it
My heart was snatched
And my movements flustered
When i bit on ambrosiac bait
Drenched in Muse's wine
Drugged and drunk
On sounds and images
I struggled in a pool of words
To assemble what held me infused
To make sense of orphaned views
Swaying between shade and light
Like dancers deprived of audience.

My poetic rapture began
In frenetic rain of ink
preposterous in direction
A poetaster rapt on vapid rhymes
With sounds of poetic crimes
But my craft developed
In piecemeal fashion
And rendered my pen composed.

A minnow of long ago
Has grown into a mackerel
And longs to become a whale
In the ocean Ars Poetica
Though it seems a pipe dream.

Your words speak to me,
They let me know
There is somebody else like me.
Your words are art to my eyes.
Floating figures from an alternate reality.
Touching my thoughts.
Whispering in my dreams.