Why is it a constant thing
When something works fine
It gets changed?

My voice, my words travel into space
In my dreams, my poem are read by you
Even when I am awake, you alert me with notification
what a new and wonderful generation.

My soul move like a slow moving cloud
On a hot sunny day: I LinkedIn to my friends
The internet has allow me to see your valleys,
Your hills, homes, mountains and your exotic flowers
impressive, deeply appreciative : No need to expressed concern
I am loving it..

Your cultures and diversity
Is worth fostering
I am always going to be there with you:

I
Envy your freedom
But will cherish your kindness,

For me it's ways to get a natural high
Dancing In your dazzling flowers fields or
Walking your sandy beaches,

I am a clingy leech to poetry
A poet who’s always in high spirit
That’s me!

Enjoying the breeze and the view
From my Internet explorer

"Protector of clarity"
In the German language
a name which combines
the two people who already
love him best.
An unspoken wish for him
to defend truth, pursue honor,
and live in integrity.
The concern is that in his pursuit
of these things, we will have caused
him to miss out on the lightness.

"Yahweh has given him laughter"*
In the Hebrew tongue,
a name which combines a person
set aside and his father, set aside
specially for me.
An unspoken desire for ease,
joy, and endless laughter to come
without struggle.
The worry is that with this lightness
will come an absence of the
struggles that make laughter
so enjoyable.

at times
we write out verses in a rush
    what we are feeling
believing this is poetry

we may do well to keep in our mind
how the grandfather of romantic poetry
defined his writing at the time

    powerful feelings
    recollected in tranquility

which means,
    in short
that just to let it all hang out

    is not poetic

only when given shape
by rhyme rhythm or meter

we recognize that personal experience
can be an image of much more

    an effort of how we admire
    the wish to articulate human desire

In such need of a distraction
To save me from this attraction
Alter me, misshape me, reintegrate me
Reform or deform me
Any form of chemical reaction
Contraction, extraction or detraction
To allow me escape this endless inaction
And there goes rhymin' simon
From 1973 and before i was born
Somewhere after the crown of thorns
But again before the golden age of ****
So accuse me again that i would overthink
Easy to say, when you've never read Batfink
Now there's a guy too ****** up to live
So much so, left the scene to resurrect as fixative
**** him, let him tell his story and i'll tell mine
And most of time i do that pretty fine
But this ain't poetry just a personal diatribe
My own little sick bucket, a self centered whine
For the purists this rhyming is surely a crime
But hey look at the title, see i'm just killing time
Anything to stop this endless push and pull
The gnawing of the brain, the heart shaped lull
There's nothing so intense as purest attraction
Yet in your absence i flounder to each & every
Distraction

With every passing day my body begs,
Consider that all drink, all food consumed
Will shorten breath, and weigh on swollen legs.
But thirst and palate are no less attuned
Though appetite has slaked as time goes by.
Instead of gluttony, I must select;
Notice what I eat and drink and why
To savor flavor to its best affect.

A poet learns their mindfulness of words
The same.  With small or no restraint at all,
They gorge themselves on overstuffed buffets,
Well-salted with their tears.  Yet, to be heard,
A simpler line cuts through the caterwaul
And quenches thirst and hunger on its way.

I was born a writer see,
an I feel it like a bone,
an I have so many stories yet,
and some skills I've yet to hone,

An I intend on writing long,
until my eyes no longer see,
an I intend to tell you here,
until my soul is free,

I am but a poet true,
with a story yet to live,
an so I will tell in words I share,
an my everything I give,

To the craft that we all
share in here,
in the Poetry an lines,
an for the faces of a people here,
in a light that ever-shines,

From those lovely shiny silver souls,
with such understanding hearts,
and yes such very brilliant minds,
an like poetry in flesh you know,
well it really takes all kinds,

Of such different types of people,
in those "classes" so they say,
yeah I am but a poet true,
and I'm glad I am today.

Ma Cherie © 2017