I feel like writing today,
yet I have no pearls of wisdom
noting fierce to say
nothing black or white
or in shades of gray…
just feeling the urge to write something today.
A poem begins with description
inscription, a collection of dusty old words
when once heard
flow together like a stream
of undiluted thoughts, like a river basin,
like a cluttered old kitchen sink.
Added together like a mathematical equation,
the simple geometry of saying the right thing
at the right time
slightly haunts me and gives me pause…
I feel like writing today.
I’m not too sure what will come of it,
or what I have to say?
I only know in my heart
that I tried to encompass a wide
range of emotions, fleeting thoughts and
in a small poetic refrain.
Writing poetry is a lot like chasing the Rain.
When the right words come it’s like a flood
of droplets too fast to catch but too many
to simply ignore. It’s enticing this word game,
deep down inside my head,
if I could pinpoint the root of it all-
If only i knew why?
I take so many words,
twist them up together
than toss them in the air-
just to see if they will fly?