Poems are spiritual food, cooked in the heart
and served on a platter-like screen.
A feast for a readers eyes and mind.

Poems are golden words, that give insight,
into the intricacies of a human existence.
It’s the platform that keeps a creative mind focused.

Poems are words that spiral with force from heart
and is the fuel that spins a web of light.
It gives phases a place to call home.

Poems are the gift a writer gives,
to all who come to their table.

StarBG © 2017

My poem may be yours indeed
In melody and tone,
If in its rhythm you can read
A music of your own;
If in its pale woof you can weave
Your lovelier design,
'Twill make my lyric, I believe,
More yours than mine.

I'm but a prompter at the best;
Crude cues are all I give.
In simple stanzas I suggest -
'Tis you who make them live.
My bit of rhyme is but a frame,
And if my lines you quote,
I think, although they bear my name,
'Tis you who wrote.

Yours is the beauty that you see
In any words I sing;
The magic and the melody
'Tis you, dear friend, who bring.
Yea, by the glory and the gleam,
The loveliness that lures
Your thought to starry heights of dream,
The poem's yours.

Briar rose, ****** red,
Why do you dream of tangled
vines with thorns?
Briar rose, ****** red,
Why do you dream of the fair
maiden that mourns?
As pearls of winter fall upon you,
-How cruel is this season,
to inflict melancholy just by
freezing your petals in the
eternal swirl of time...