Growth takes time. Not every seed takes off running. Every now & then Even seeds can trip over their shoes. It makes the difference when you Can take the time to stop & notice As well as continue to walk Until falling face first. I've never known a man to die from Tripping over their shoes. But I've known men to improvise Until they learned to tie their shoes However, I've also known men to tie knots in their shoes and still can't get them loose No matter how hard they try
Like an incomprehensible piece of art hanging on the wall, I have kept my feelings hidden in the form of words pressed onto the paper crammed somewhere in my heart. For some people, it lacks rhythm and for some beauty. But for now, I know and fully understand, people are not poetry. Because poetry grants me freedom to improvise when it is not in line but people, they do not.
Sillpy glopin honey drop slowly dripping in a gooey flop.Fropling trolippy skitterbug bleeringly rupoling the door
Dewy molifropinin weterings kladet in holimeter lines as criggol meets the Zikketmen.
But vasping ants jig molky polky on the derbholkpin as if chinnyzilcobble.
Meanwhile the phettering teeblers sang joop, joop, joop and ***** crackle flew over in the feetumleftumground.
The crumbwarblers screamed " hooji folpityquif bollp" but the zikketmen knew it was a lie.
"Who are you ? ", said the phettering teeblers as they oxiety the suggits.
Huge swarms of vasping squiding ants who were oblivious to the drama grigged the blodderpad and swung it violently towards the skitterbugs just as they finished their meal.
" I fooled the zikketmen" said the chief teebler.
But just then ***** crackle landed a heavy blow to the chiefs vast head and dripping masses of joolping green blood poured from his brainincasementholderthingy.
As if by magic zeery eyed cooljinmen had appeared in fighting mood.
Yelping ground slippits burrowed deep in to the sludge pockets and closed their eyes in fear.
Andrew Dursley 2015
This is what I like to call improvised poetry. I start off with a vague idea of the story then record myself adlibbing as I go. Not sure if it is the right sort of thing for this site but I hope someone likes it.
It starts with an R, or maybe an I? A nebulous cluster in the murk of my mind— a desperate swipe; they orbit my hand. My journey starts all over again. Revise, reproduce— induce, per use? (My impatient acquaintance taps his foot— someone my age should know this word.) But I do, I’ve used it a million times— that’s right! I’ve got it—! “Improvise!”
Presque Vu is another term for "tip-of-the-tongue" syndrome.