Biro the brave heart,
liberated the wasted words,
that layed lifeless on the rippled land of paper,
imprisoned and not found.

Words that have been fed with feeble fever,
swollen from the neglect injected into its letter limbs.
Neglect from the puzzle prime minister.

But biro the brave heart pen,
together with the motion from his noble ‘hand’ steed,
slowly walking around each word,
in a captivating circle,
made out of incentive ink.

The circle of meaningful medicine,
that cures the words emptiness,
and installs a ventilator
so, it can breathe value.

Words that are ready to breathe value,
the words I am looking for so,
that my figure of speech is finally alive.

Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2020
All Rights Reserved

Poets are an interesting bunch,
All half mad at least.
I say I love poetry
When the words tear me up inside,
Stealing every breath.
I say it soothes me
Even as it burns me,
Begging to be released.
"We all know we're crazy," I say.
"But we choose this life
Because we can't live without the fever dreams
Or syllables controlling our every move."
The non-poet stares at me,
Uncomprehending.

Do the waves
Ever wish to leave
The hold of the moon?

If it could,
Would it
Free it’s spirit
From the pull of a lover
Miles and miles away?

Or would it keep moving,
To the beat of a drum
No one else seems to hear?

Fully entrenched in my MFA program. Will start posting again in July. I plan on cleaning up my page and presenting myself slightly more professional.....slightly.

Love you all,

See you soon,


Sam