There is something about poetry.  It moves in waves
To the beat of its drum, in its own time and cadence.
A poem is a naked thing born of stripped bare bones,
We crave its touch as one craves a lover's.

The world might not hear anything like it for years
Until one day a reborn version will set it on fire.
Its layers add meaning to the meaning of the familiar.
Rich in its complexities it speaks to our souls,

Reaching for those moments no one else has touched.
It is like a love letter to our past that haunts us going into
The present.  It is a beacon of hope not until like a melody.
Words are gathered and then we pin them down to the page.

A poem is just a song stripped of its music.
If only I had another lifetime within this lifetime
The music and words would never stop.  And yet,
You cannot reach for and grasp a mist to save in a bottle,

But poetry can.

I happened upon a sad little birdie sitting in a tree.
"What's the matter little birdie?  You cry.  Why?"
"The notes in my throat are all caught." was the reply.

But said I, "Music is in your bones with every melody.
There's no song more important than the one you sing.  
And I can look through you and see.  Sing your songs for me."

And with love, patience, and encouragement, it began to sing.
Will you?

With a thrill, some creature glides past,
Soon stills the heart, discernment at last.
Only a brief flutter on shaded-out wings
Quickly glimmered in the evening breeze.  
It was only a shadow.  So why would I care?
This time of day no shadows should be there.

I thread the silken thoughts and notes
Weaving as I go like whispers
In a darkened room, in and out
The phrases go like shadows
Like broken lullabies sung off-key
I search for something no longer in me
Then, rock myself to sleep.

“As no one can live without inhaling and exhaling, no one can live without feeling and expressing. The life of expression is how the heart breathes and how our spirit grows in the life that carries it.”

- Mark Nepo

Our need for Expression!
We long for expression.
It is a human desire.

Poetry is Expression in its rawness.
Poetry is the passing of feelings
From one human heart to another.

To be a poet is to believe in life
And in expression.
To be a poet one must not be greedy

Be the one who doles out sweets to share.

-In the style of Mark Nepo

I do not need to legitimate our hard-fought struggles.
My only wish was that you hadn’t given up on wanting
To continue this love after all the years and all of the things,
The things that had bloomed.  

For you found at the end in your dying bed, you could never stop.
"What I hold onto of you tumbles" from my heart into the depths.
"Like something that slipped through my fingers."
And I often scrabble to collect it.

She was so crazy she thought
She owned the dawn.

She thought every birdsong
Were sung for her.

The sun's shine,
The moon's glow,

All for her.
You taught her differently.