April is national poetry month.
Lets get together and write...and eat cookies of course.
Be sure to check out the display in the library, maybe memorize something.
Here's a little something on the fly:
intent.
Prone to revolutionary exultation.
Declarations scare away
The reassembling of over sized notions
Bad battles of ignorance
What is honest?
Trust is something that holds tight
Indignation:
Pure
I am alive, wild
I am part of everywhere
But where does my being hear?
I will find a way to be, a satellite in the wind.
No rules will bind me.
Go within.
Stir.
Freedom will find you.
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Time is Of the Essence
ReplyDeleteFeel it. Absorb it. Love it. Cherish it.
Time is of the essence.
Swing forward and back. Forward.
Stop. Don't go. Leave. Don't stay.
Decide, decide, decide.
It does not matter.
It is my final decision and that is that.
No change, no regrets. Keep pushing.
La de da. La de da.
It's all about the experience.
Take it in, breathe it out.
Feel the tingle.
See the smiles.
Hear the music.
Taste the air.
I am where I choose to be.
Feel. Feel. Take it in and feel.
Time is of the essence.
Shut the door. Lock it out.
ReplyDeleteYou don't need it. Ignorance.
A soothing voice, a hushing noise.
Inhale. Breathe. Forget.
I do not want your agitation,
I just want to know your mind.
I do not judge, I simply ponder.
Think. Rethink. Concur.
If I wanted to be a writer
ReplyDeleteI think I could.
But I don’t know where to begin.
I have ideas in my heart
and words in my head
But they won’t come together
There are some people who have wide-open minds.
They just open a door in their heads and words come out,
Effortlessly.
I am not one of those people
I wish I was.
If I wanted to be a writer
I think I could.
But I don’t know where to begin.
At penny candy stores,
You tell the guy at the counter what kind of candy you want.
Then he reaches into the big jars
And scoops out just what you want.
Imagine if my head was like that:
“Yes, I would like a short poem please.
Witty, funny, and a bit snarky.
Eloquent language fused with new thoughts.
Make it fast, I have to impress some people today.”
If I wanted to be a writer
I think I could.
But I don’t know where to begin.
By: Anonymous
Poetry written very late at night:
ReplyDeleteI must go to sleep for the hours they fly,
I can't let another night's rest pass me by
But now that I'm here trying to slip into dreams
my mind has decided to burst at the seams
The thoughts come pelting from corners unknown
curiosities nagging, seem to have grown
Coming out from under petty troubles of day
a mental anarchy, each fighting for say
Like a game of battleship, the sun has been sunk
into an ocean of dreams, if you believe in that junk
And the victor takes over, the victor of night
who's ubiquitous presence sets my mind in flight
But I must go to sleep for the morning is sprinting.
I must go to sleep before day starts its hinting.
I have words for blood.
ReplyDeleteCoursing through my veins,
pumping through my body and my being.
Words, wandering from the tips of my toes to the crown of my head
If ever I'm wounded, no blood comes out
just words
spilling from my pain, staining journals, scrap paper, backs of old home work assignments
with my deepest thoughts.
I have words for blood.
They pulse through my limbs, whispering their secrets
Contriving to form phrases and thoughts,
holding their form for a moment to ponder on
before dissipating into something new.
I have words for blood
Boiling, writhing,
singing, weeping
yearning, roaring
hoping dreaming
discovering, living
I have words for blood,
Pumping through my heart
Coursing through my soul
Words