Poetry has a sensitive soul
A drive and impulse
Telling stories the way they are
Feelings of soberness
A heart felt word

Poetry has a sensitive heart
Beautifully immense
A heart of gold
Giving values to life
Adding years to life: Poetry is beautiful

Poetry has a sensitive soul
Like streams that meanders slowly
Like a river glorious: It Flows
Poetry has a sensitive heart,
A beautiful soul; A flying Angel.

Poetry is the signal
that
The soul sends into the world
Like the river, it flows into the sea,
yet the sea never gets filled.

Poetry is the fluid for the soul,
The liquid for the yearning of the Mind
That which quenches the fire
Feeding the deepest desires
Poetry is Gold in essence

Ovi Odiete©

You're like the harmony in my sad song
Tapping my feet while my melancholy sings
I hold your name at the tip of my tongue
Savoring it like my new favorite dish
Your eyes are the ones I get lost in
Finding the peace to guide me home at last
The best thing I have ever done in my life
Was to let you to course and pulse within me
I was the bit of darkness in your bright room
But i want to be the log that feeds your fire
The one that keeps you well lit year round

i am crying out loud
it falls on deaf ears
my pain is avowed
but only death hears

air is just a cloud
which my breath fears
my end is my shroud
created by less cares

this agony is endowed
tested by my best years
only silence is allowed
where only death hears

(A big thank you to all the ones who have ever read my words)

When I first met her
God put a speaking trumpet
straight up against my ear
and stated
very slowly
in that Godly voice
that is a mix of
the ocean's roar
and the singing of
Barry White

"This is the one
you've been looking for."

The stars were in on it
bubbling like champagne
in the night sky
singing a sweet accompaniment
a singular poem
of one word:
Yes.

What would you do?

I took the only possible path:
Surrender.

Gave up my wandering ways
quit my womanizing
got hitched straight away
tied the knot
didn't know a thing
about knot tying
but the **** thing held.

And here we are.
Poet number one
that would be her.

Poet number two-and-a-half
me

Marriage solved nothing
brought more questions
than answers
more unfinished business
than completed tasks

Yet at this late stage
a sense that against all odds
against the evidence
of my hands
against every argument
presented by the priest
who reluctantly married us

Something has gone
wonderfully right.

The stars,
dear friends,
truly know their business.

These thoughts scream in my head
Keeping my dreams under my bed
Where they fornicate with idle time
Breeding failure and poems that don't even rhyme
I toss and turn every night
Knowing conformity dims my light
I lay there as time goes on and on and on
Remembering the love that's come and gone
Yet I still remain
Same name
Same everything
With nothing