Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

if you look to your left, you'll see the apologies I left on your machine and the nightmares you gave me when you told me you could never love the girl who didn't love herself. I still don't know what meant because now you're coming back even though I can't feel the warmth of your hands anymore.
and if you look to your right, you can still see the street light where I first saw your ghost stumbling through the darkness. I couldn't quite tell what you were at first. I couldn't tell if you were an angel or otherwise. I couldn't tell if you were a flight risk or otherwise. I couldn't tell if you were truly in love or otherwise.
crane your necks and look to the stars that I'd like to pretend we looked at together because, after all, we were star crossed lovers even though we collided when I couldn't help but mention the way you pulled from me.
look at ground, and watch it crumble like it did when I started falling.

Long walks save lives,
Peering into tear filled eyes
Wandering a broken path
Pondering a broken past.
Into the light we'd gladly go,
A vision comes so beautiful
Our lives complete
So much still unknown.
But we turn around
And head back home.

Long walks save lives,
They tell what the future holds;
when you grow old
whether you live freely
or sell your soul.
Walks that let us think endlessly
Through the forest ,
Around the trees.
Each step a new thought
In your our heads
One that pities the living
And prays for the dead.

Long walks save lives,
Walks that last for miles
Hours, Years, days, and months.
Alone we walk
and think
and talk to no reply;
Walking but not caring why.
Understanding everything
Floating freely like a dream;
Listening to natures sound
so profound,
Your feet are lifted off the ground
until the wind and the clouds
are in your face
and take you away from this starting place.

Long walks save lives'
but they do end
so often they should be taken.
Through forests and trees
and city streets
A walk can never be mistaken;
For heaven or hell
just a period when ones head does little aching
a mind to busy thinking.

Long walks save lives,
and as they reach their end.
The pain is gone
you can move on,
and often you will find
once you have cleared your mind,
and the walks draws towards its end
of yourself you have made a friend

They sat in blankets as they tried to keep warm
penniless with no heating and no coal to burn
while outside they heard the violent storm
the blizzard of snow and ice all churn.

Slowly they both began to freeze to death
there was no-one to help or ease their plight
they were just poor and lonely old sisters
who would probably die in the dark of this night.

They were just another statistic of winter
a cold one much worse than some others
they had eked out their money on eating
so they now huddled together like lovers.

There are so many who suffer in winter
and we really should spare them a thought
we should all keep an eye out for our neighbour
as help due to their pride is not sought.

It is dawn now and the sisters are frozen
one died and the other breathes slow
but there is no-one to even take notice
and in a short while like her sister she’ll go.

©Joe Wilson – huddled together like lovers…2014

i'd sketch you in charcoal,
then paint your eyes in with
watercolours

(i'm no van gogh, but it
would be hard to make you look
anything less that
gorgeous)