My Poetry, My Brain
             (I Don’t Know)

  A poem is a poem
Even if it’s just a word
For once it’s written
It’s seen, it’s read, it’s heard

My brain is wired strangely
An idea, a title the first rhyme
Then quickly a story line and
I write as if I am running out of time

(Sample— Old Ones)

At fifty seven I guess I’m middle
Aged and I know I’m out of shape
To go back in time to a younger day
Would be a great escape

I see children playing with energy
That never seems to drain
I thought to myself, if I could capture
That energy wouldn’t it be insane

Then I thought that’s probably
The same thing my elders thought
And then I said to myself boy
I’m glad that I didn’t get caught

My first rhyme becomes my last
In a sense becomes the outer chrome
You read the title and story and
Then I want to bring you home

(Sample-Old Ones first rhyme-Doldrums)—Then really it just becomes filler to get to the point
Where I get to Doldrums and Old Ones.) So here it is Incase you
Missed it the first time.

                  Old Ones

  I remember my youth and
The energy that was endlessly flowing
And today I feel that energy
Continually slowing

I remember my elders and
How they envied me
Wishing they could store
That energy for eternity

Now the years have passed me by
And I still feel the kid inside of me
But I have no clue just where
That energy might be

I know it’s lost in some
Kind of a galaxy void
Harnessed inside some
Kind of a robot droid

Or maybe it’s frozen in the
Space and time doldrums
Or maybe it was hijacked
By the old ones

(My poetry, My Brain
I get it I go,
Don’t ask me because
I don’t know)

Written By: Charles Kean
Copyright © 02/25/2020
All rights reserved