writing

Inspirations

I write by day, I write by night.
I write of darkness and of light.
I write of nature and worlds to explore.
I’ve written less, I’ve written more.

I write of emotion and of art.
I write of flutters in my heart.
I write of the old and the new.
I’ve written of joy and sadness too.

I write of dreams that fill my brain.
I write of love that’ll never wane.
I write for me to let you know.
I write for you so my feelings show.

~*~
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Write to Dream

I don’t write much about reality

There’s things there I’d rather not see

There’s comfort in a world made of fantasy

There’s no hate, no war, no suffering to be free

~

There’s no false hope of dreams promised you and me

No hearts are ever broken, we are always we

It’s between these sheets of fantasy where I write to be

Where the world’s shared dreams become reality

 ~*~

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Poultry Dreams

In the name of man’s greed and chicken feed,
a farmer hatched his scheme to succeed.
He’d create a chicken with numerous wings.
Then, he too, could soar with the like’s kings.
~
Wings sell well but they sell way too cheap.
But if he had more the more he would reap.
He mortgaged his house and sold his truck.
He kept his old dog who brought him luck.
~
His wife kicked him out to sleep in the hay.
The breeding was started the very next day.
Time quickly passed and soon it was a year.
Most thought him a fool, although sincere.
~
With a cock-a-doodle-do he rose with the sun.
The day would be his, full of pride, joy and fun.
He sprinted to the house to fetch his ex-wife,
who had recently remarried to start a new life.
~
They walked to the barn, after some yelling.
The closer they got the more they were smelling.
With the odor intense, the farmer opened the door.
And with one big swoosh his hopes were no more.
~
His most wonderous chickens all flew the coop.
And the poor farmer left with only their poop.
The lesson of course being evolution’s not a race.
And those who disbelieve get egg on their face.

~*~
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Write On

~

Just an observation

Neither here nor there

Just a little thought

That I’d like to share

~

Having writ now a bit

Logging ups and downs

There seems to be a pattern

That’s shared all around

~

Sometimes juices flow

Pumped with inspiration

Sometime the well is dry

Full of emptiness and frustration

~

Yet on we tread for nothing more

Then another chance to explore

Following our pens, hearts and minds

Where always a tomorrow we will find

~*~

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Four See a Poet Well

Dive deep into this poets well

Rise with weighty, weedy shell

Float atop seas warm and clear

Drown in waves of icy despair

.

To the heavens soaring high

Gravity wins in darkened sky

Climb a ladder to emerge

Swim alone I do not urge

.

Forever shaken out to dry

Life is ripped with tear in eye

Lips conform to truth or lies

Four see and hear no silent cries

.

Poets tend to dive too soon

Writes tomorrows under moon

Sees a future without a past

Writes first, questions last

.

Boards to spring, slides to climb

Empty wells all fill in time

Time gives, takes and lends its hands

Turning forever in shifting sands

.

A place alone when hot

Vibrant when others not

A place that’s cooler than hell

Welcome all to a poets well

*

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Paths Move People

We can’t see the future or read the mind.

But with eyes, ears and thinking gears,

there’s much that we can find.

Pages of our lives fanned out in real-time.

Voices of every color sing them out in rhyme.

~

What was is done, will be, just a guess.

Is, is now, lest we digress.

Paths past can follow to haunt and test.

Yet we need only step a little, time gives the rest.

 ~*~

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Trying Times

Please excuse me for this poems’ short length.
It seems finding things is not my strength.
I had started a poem and it was great.
But I lost it and it’s getting really late.
~
But I know the importance of writing every day,
especially when there’s nothing to say.
How will you know anything if you don’t try?
Nothing’s ever answered without asking why.
~
I tried to find my poem but failed miserably.
But it’ll turn up, just you wait and see.
It may not be great when done and that’s O.K.
I’ll just try again, each and every day.

~*~
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Getting High

I like to write lots of stuff but I don’t know why.
And I’ll probably keep doing it until the day I die.
I write a little something almost every day,
but if I never make a dime that’s still OK.
~
I wake up early everyday right around sunrise.
I guzzle morning coffee to open up my eyes.
And when the kitchen’s lit up bright,
out comes my notebook then I start to write.
~
I never know where I’ll go or if I’ll go at all.
There’s a chance I’ll draw a blank but that chance is small.
Pages now fill my desk and the pile’s getting high.
But that’s a poem for another day, so for now goodbye.

~*~
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Poets Bond

~

I want to be a secret agent

Passport full of places went

Double O’Steven will be my name

Deeds done, others to blame

.

Gadgets in kit bond to tell

Code’s sheathed if to dwell

As a writer undercover I’ll be

A life expected in obscurity

.

Armed with poetic license to kill

Never the bullet only the quill

Hearts broken come with the job

Words unspoken said with a sob

.

Cloaked with dagger to stabilize

Bored to tears obscure shaded eyes

Faceless unseen ready to pounce

Heads roll the tales announce

.

Shadowy figures have no fear

When lights on them they disappear

This chapter unknown forever lurks

A page turned another’s in the works

 

~*~

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Exercise When

~

There was a duck upon the fen,

eyed by a fox in the glen.

Dusk came, the time was then,

but the duck’s alerted by a wren.

~

The hungry fox returned to the den,

the chanced missed for what he does yen.

Morning comes the fox climbs the ben,

from its peak he sees a pen.

~

In this pen the tasty hen,

not just one but eight or ten.

The time was now, if not then when.

The fox is wise, it’s in their ken.

~

Though overlooked, the ken of men,

the fox still hungry but gained some Zen.

~*~

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Morning Triku #145 – Word Play

*
Whole Hearted

Do soul mates exist?
Do hearts and minds spark when kissed?
Yes and more when missed.

*
Think About It

Mind over matter
is absurd when the world’s weight
is on your shoulders.

*
Non-Yielding

It’s not easy street
with bumps and stops, though poets
get the write of way.

~*~
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Plan B

I’m writing a poem with a camera obscurer

Alone in the dark with my pen and a mirror

I’ll copy all the words, line for line

Just shapes through a lens, better than mine

 ~

At the glass’s edge all becomes clear

Words arranged, scribed without fear

Reflections honest, colors vivid and true

Time imagined – visions of you

 ~

By hearth embraced for evermore

Framed with care, hung by the door

Shadows of day will come and go

Our depth’s captured, forever aglow

 ~*~

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When All’s Left Is Write

To write from one’s heart,
the sweetest of art,
Valentine’s every day.
~
To write from ones soul,
a most serious goal,
but stillness has its sway.
~
To write from the head,
reality’s shed,
the world’s just our way.
~
In time and space and geography’s place;
people rush by, each a new face.
All’s directing a no act play.
~
Scenes overlap and curtains fall,
script’s blank await the call.
Silence screams its say.
~
A choice to write’s a right to choose.
When darkness consumes the bright side we lose,
left only with blue and gray.
~
If a life imagined we’re to create,
chapters mate and thoughts relate.
The end’s let to stray.

~*~
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