I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

this time of year feels like a memory already

The battle of heart and mind is often one we lose it’s the one fight we can’t run from but yet alas it’s the hardest. It leaves the biggest scars and the deepest wounds. Wounds and scars that can’t heal

If fire burns
and destroys
everything
in it’s path

then why
do I want
to touch
the stars

so badly

can self destruction
really be so
beautiful

To be a bird
free on the breeze
taking in the charm of trees
to feel the light and taste the air
is not a gift that we can share
shackled to the ground it seems
we must content ourselves with dreams
leaving you to own the sky
while we look up and long to fly

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

thankyou for the prompt, the questions.

some times there is no answer, no words to describe.

yesterday i went alone to hold those feelings private

there was joy in the small things

chips from the shop the first for two years

ate in the sun under the particular trees

the absence of red soap and the joy of seeing the garden again, the galvanised cold frames

and wondering why only eight of her children were carved in the church recess when she bore ten

yet I tell you this

it were a lovely day with new surprises

and confirmation that I never wish to win

nothing