I play in a pool of words,
drifting with waves that keep me buoyant.
Ripples of wind open heart moving body poised to write,

Backstroke, becomes a phase worthy to scribe.
Butterfly, lets me move across untamed page.
Crawl, lets me ponder and write creatively and clearly.

With breath, I choose to glide through waves of thoughts.

Breast stroke, makes me in touch with heart rhythms.
Side stroke, lets me cut through painful memories.
Free style, allows me to advent a poem uniquely and elegantly to fill page.

With breath, I float gracefully through waves of thoughts.

Trudgen, stoke thrusts self across fields of bubble infused jargon.

Dog Paddle, brings life to my pen strokes as I flutter with dancing words.

Diving, I do deep into emotions to orchestrate a poem like that of a peal exquisite.

With breath, all waves carry my poetic human vessel to my island.
The place where pen and paper are at hand.

I write because the paper listens
to the tears and laughter of my soul
like blood pumping though my vanes
seeping ink drips down the damp pages
as I write across every straight line
the messy confused bottled up thoughts
turn into questions running through my head
high above my neck it sits holding it all in
just think of what my brain is going through
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

my pen takes hold of the paper
as I hold the flow of my thoughts
floating through the lines on each page
riding the waves of concept
that takes flight
thoughts are like birds
so many in groups
bunched together
one by one loose
feathers drop
here and there
falling out of line
yet finds its place
ether speaking in flight
or written in words
the paper listens
that's why I write

my words can hit instantly as you can see
I have to jot them down as they spark..
or they just might fly away from me
I write because the paper listens
for inspiration it can vanish so quickly
sometimes my thoughts may flow fast
if I stop in the middle I lose the imagery
causing my pen to trip over words
leaving behind a big mess of typos
then the bad grammar is exposed
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told

just to let you know
my words can hit instantly
that's just how I be
most of my writings
are free style poetry
my mind possess the tempo
as each poem I write grows
I the poet hum silently as
my ink of harmony flows
from my quenching desire
my mind and fingers they
think much faster than me
unleashing unspoken thoughts
silent for too long I can not be
the paper listens and gets drenched
with thoughts of my hot to the touch
written emotions curved creatively