My stalk like pen
moves in wind
like corn on a summers eve.
Words call tickling air in breath
as pen takes a stance.
Corn husks feed the hunger
that grows to plant this moment.
A moment where poetry is within
And ink will mount stallion white page
as if pen needs to catch the words.
Words to be corralled inside a trotting verse.
Perhaps later I will sit by fire
inside my tire
and hear foal poem neigh--
I say with hooray.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 2:16 PM UTC
My stalk like pen
moves in wind
like corn on a summers eve.
Words call tickling air in breath
as pen takes a stance.
Corn husks feed the hunger
that grows to plant this moment.
A moment where poetry is within
And ink will mount stallion white page
as if pen needs to catch the words.
Words to be corralled inside a trotting verse.
Perhaps later I will sit by fire
inside my tire
and hear foal poem neigh--
I say with hooray.
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