My poets road is adorned with trees.
blowing in a gently kissing breeze.
Words infused in scents from flowers permeate.
Energies warm from sun fill breath.
A paradise to walk in and share.
A place I live in on a writers journey
that is a celebration.

StarBG © 2017

A poet is like excavator,
digging through cave like walls of self
even when dark visions come.

A poet is like ballerina,
using words with poetic power
to spin thoughts inside readers mind.

A poet is like hiker,
walking up mountain with stored words
to be sorted out inside quiet.

A poet is like farmer,
planting a crop of words to help grow
a new perspectives for reader.

A poet is like a painter,
creating a masterpiece to excite
conveying visions with their gifts.

A poet is a human,
opening their precious heart
as they share a personal reflection.

A poet is like a pregnant female
laboring to birth a creative work
for the world to see and feel.

A poet is me,
who writes, to tame a raging sea of words within.
Who writes with her passion and heart.

StarBG © 2017

To loose mind and go into the heart is a grand thing, for inside heart there is no judgement, no sadness, only love.

StarBG © 2017

.
Scurrilous birds fly by,
To nest in the little painted
Houses left clear for them,
In awkward circles they romp
Their peculiar dramas
With ****** wings.

Do they even witness
The skies revolving canvas,
New masterpieces each day,
How the light shimmers
In the sparkle rays of sun,
How the golden fields,
Of vales in sighted sweep
And dance, airy etudes,
By the windfall gusts
So suddenly arising?

These visions are marks
For but few, who hear time
As it plays in stepped quartets
Of the spiraling seasons song,
For the lone mercies, gifts,
To ones most gentle, merest,
Spirited eyes who gaze deftly,
Deep in sacred days,
From a window.

My amazing luck fails me
when I want it to work
and works its magic
when I expect it least