I, the poet wears many hats to adorn self at any given time.

Musician, orchestrating with instrument of pen, expressive words upon page.

Artist, painting with beautiful colorful jargon, to open eyes and hearts inside grace.

Gardener, planting seeds of thoughts for them to bloom inside readers mind.

Chief, dishing out many a line, filled with delicious words to tantalize reader.

Landscaper, constructing scenery as beautiful as a mountain, or deep as an ocean.

Sculptor, molding craft of words sometimes soft and light, other times sharp as steel.

Teacher, enlightening one with information to open their consciousness if they choose.

Sailor, guiding ship-like eyes across a sea of words to move into calm waters for peace.

Laborer, picking just the right phase, to get a fresh new perspective inside a poem.

Singer, using one's rhythmic voice to echo inside vibrations of a sonnet that goes viral.

Doctor,  becoming a wordologist aiding the reader to receive insight to help them heal.

Secretary, to self who writes and transcribes many an ode so reader and poet has peace.

I, poet has a wardrobe quite extensive to pull from, on a creative journey of sharing.

StarBG © 2017

this poem has no title
for it to lean on
so there is no telling
the direction it goes

no title to hinder
or hold it back
all of its meaning
is in all that it says

this poem has no title
to hold it in place
it can only rely
on the rhymes that it makes

whether they're good
or whether they're bad
this poem has no title
to hold its hand

this poem has no title
to weigh it down
which forces a read
to find what it's about

and what it's about
you may not find
until you have reached
the very last line

i wrote a lot of great poetry when i was in love
i wrote even better poetry when i was in pain
i wrote the best poetry when i realized that the two emotions were actually the same.

Sometimes, writing poetry feels like...

Playing Charades using metaphors to describe your actions
Solving Jigsaw Puzzles to assemble your current thoughts
Using Ouija boards to converse with your own feelings

Sometimes, reading poetry feels like...

Playing Poker when you study the writer's intentions
Connecting the poet's thoughts as if you were playing Dots
Figuring out the writer's feelings like in Strings

                                                      ­         Anyways, its always *fun!

I am an artist
painting ones eyes with colorful jargon.
Red for passion that strikes a memory.
Green for the abundance of words that allows reader to think.
Blue for open sky that leaves room to drift in visions.
Purple my favorite to tweak the imagination
with peaceful vibrations.
Orange for the juice that flows inside a poem.
giving place to roam.
Pink like cotton candy that tickles the taste buds
for expansion of heart.
Black for words that tempt one to look within
and face the dark for cleansing.

Playground of colors flow for a writer artist to color with
as the reader sits to enjoy, ponder, and celebrate in their own space.

StarBG © 2017