Carefree, casual smile; all the while. Answering all questions, be they easy or even tough, my answers seem enough. I talk direct, never serious; much jest, much love, much zest; I’m at times, like a pest. Always same, for old habits can’t change; innocent yet very mature, of my future I seem sure. I am … Read moreI, me and myself..
Pulitzer prize winner Stanley Kunitz once told, “You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.” I agree that it is born wild and free, no matter how it is born, and by what means! A poem forms in the sea of my heart An ocean of colors for this sacred … Read moreWild poetry..
conscious of a word to adhere to I write when I write with the flow of beats my heart sings Linked with OctPoWriMo (Day 21, With the flow) and Haiku Heights (#192, Conscious). (’12, Oct 21)
playing with words, I write past witching hour tonight with the bright moonlight; rules come, give me a fright, no muse, yet another plight, I give in, turn off the lights; muse has no time that’s right, a sudden thought set alight, an idea now burning bright, so with rules I must fight; so back … Read morePlaying with words..
How can I put a word, to what excites my muse? For what inspires me, might be to her, a ruse. With each tear of pain, she writes but of hope; she writes but a future, how with pain, to cope. With each smile of joy, she writes of its cause, when inspiration sings, I … Read moreCompleting life..
tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock still knocks, on the window of my eyes. rules, my mother says: “six hours of sleep, that you must keep; switch off the PC now, go to bed,” with love; I start counting sheep. but midnight, midnight, that’s writing hour; along comes a thought, yes, I love it a lot, and … Read moreWriting hour