A Poet's Lament Recited

PERPETUAL POEMS A poem is never merely still born, It has its creator's eyes,ears and nose Yet,unique it lives a life of its own Independent,well able to stand alone; On others it can,influence,affect Energise,direct or initiate A response,unforseen and immediate Or lie dormant,yet not dead,but waiting; Watered by another's mutual bond resurrected,to live again,again. A WORDS WORTH I recite and read aloud, wander, lonely as a cloud, then emulate and create as memory stimulates; Swim against poetry's tide therein,an enigma hide, perhaps,a step too far,with Tennyson,crossing the bar; I dream on Will's sonnet verse, figuratively,sweet and terse, lazing life away,with songs compared to a summer's day. To conjure an opening line ever,remembered,as mine. A POETS PROGRESS Through a personal lens I think,then write Perspective's gaze alters,from night to night, As blotting paper,absorbs impressions Of poetry's learned and unlearned lessons; my anthology,my journey's log book From mainstream or the back lanes I took, An emphasis upon a favoured form. Those endeavours which I,on reflection mourn; I change,I alter or perhaps stand still In retrospective of a fogotten will, And yet,driven by this creative itch, Each day,I,this word tapestry must stitch. Listen to me read these poems on youtube under the name ichthyschiro