#wp
I Will, I Will
I can
do this
on my
own, own it
I do, I don’t
need you to
hold my hand
I can’t wait to
be free of what
this appears to
be an .. an .. an
addicted, abuse
of substance, as
if that is like me,
to f’get that I am
part of life and
beauty, and all
that is stopping
me from going
anywhere w/o
you ever again
is stinking
thinking is
… is I am
need-
ing a
just
one
m
o
r
e
h
i
t
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
Places unnamed, faces blur
coffee so thick, dressed floor swims
mermaid knows what needs
to be met,
not conversation
Quiet can give
couched restful head thoughts,
back flat all else elevated
poking sky holes ball point pen size
Eyes already closed
body drapes bed linen
pillows, with sides of cold
now plate my heavy head
need to get sated, not sedated
Where ever I am sate,
Ear bones move to vibrate,
to the secret code of songs
pen touches paper,
spill ink in
that moment,
calm
is balm,
fear becomes vapour.
A poem is born.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
How do you do?
I am here for you.
Simple for me to say,
I am a container of dismay
After Thursday.
What is good poetry,
what is a good poet,
(s)he is a teller of stories in verse,
s(he) makes music out of sounds,
(s)he explores tension and boundaries,
s(he) undresses your sensibilities,
(s)he has a heart tapped into broken vessels,
s(he) can cry while in the midst of a write,
(s)he writes poetry for others, almost always from the self
s(he) can write love with a thousand different metaphors,
but chooses not so to do.
(s)he loves language, maybe more than self, has as many
books as dust on the shelf.
s(he) is a quiet observer, with no remorse for putting into
words what the sky says to the child, what the man
hears from the Earth, what a woman knows about
birth and the pains of life as well, that no man would
survive and too the wisdom found as one walks along
the garden path.
(s)he knows that poetry is readily available, simply by being
vulnerable and sometimes obtuse.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 12:15 AM UTC