It is a writer’s rage
that inks and turns
each bright white page
into a thing of calligraphic chaos.
Weird words are woven
into some coherent pattern
for the reader to readily discern;
Some hopeful aspiration
that denies or confirms
the appreciation the poet
hopes to earn
before time turns
his words to ashes.

I'm hurt,
Its not you who hurt,
not your intention to hurt,
It's me,
my thought for you,
my suggestions for you,
is killing me like the hell.
My expectation on you,
on your feeling,
on your expectation on me.
Its the situation that hurt me,
the situation to expect more on you,
the situation to belief more on you.
It's me, who hurt me.

It's blistering hot
Here in England
No time to
Acclimatise

Lightning is the fleeting thorn of blooming thunder
The self-erasing crack into the sky window
The laceration of the clouds that left no scar
And sealed itself instantly
And bled to life bountiful
Shifting afloat in deep grey

*

The lightning showed me the way
To the burning tree
The clouds were dark with worry
That I would not see
The thunder told me to hurry
Before the earth swallows me

There was a poet on HP
Who had alot of ♡
He tried to stay
     out of the fights
He kept himself apart
He had a love of poetry
He lived for his art.

Talented, he made "the grade"
As "minded" poets do
But he didn't try
     to "people please"
And so mean writes
     eschewed.
When he encountered
     "lesser lights" he didn't
     make them blue
But put ♡s on them as well
For their hearts were true.

Time went by... how it did fly!
As if given wings!
He found he had "The Daily"
(When there was
     such a thing)
He tried to READ all poets
     but could not, everything...
So he decided just to read
The small group
     within his ring.

He would NOT be purchased.
He would NOT be sold.
He was TRUE to his beliefs
Of his Faith quite bold.

Not only did he ♡
He gave "thumbs up" as well!
He reposted and was good
In fact, the man was swell!

He had a grateful following
But, as fate is wont
He couldn't keep up
     with the load...
Found his health was shot
But he tried to be a light
He tried to give folks thought.

His readership got smaller
It seemed like every day.
He still tried to be genuine
And true in every way
But nobody wanted
     him no more
He began to fade away...
Where the
     rubber hits the road
He began to PRAY.

If you don't know
     who this is,
Replace the "he" with "she"
She believes
And truly grieves

That poet would be ME.


♡ Catherine