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"A word like a river flows through the mind"                                                                                                         Life And Poetry, Mark Frank

Hello poetry. There's just so much that I could say to you                            in as much as I have come to respect and appreciate                                                                                                                                    you.  But may it for now suffice to say that I am enriched                           
by your words; duly humbled by their restrictions;                                                                                                                            challenged by certain word spellings that I have                                                                                                                               ignorantly taken for granted, only to be rebuked                                                                                                                        by you, informing me of their true meaning and                                 
identity. I will often bow to your command, although                                                                                                             often not knowing what direction you which to flow,                                                                                                           to go, to descend, to ascend.  Perhaps that is part                                                                                                      of your mission and the beauty of you.                                                                                                              

In a dream or 'eyes wide open', I conceive a thought,                                                                                             and if I do not hasten to record, it takes wings and flies away;                                                                               or by the time it reaches the page, multi-directional forks                                                                               appear out of the thin air, forcing me to make turns and                                                                                                                               decisions never before imagined. But out of nowhere                                                                                                                                  something is birthed that never before existed.                                                                                                                                            

I call it mine, but is it really?  Was I                                                                                                                          not merely a conduit through which                                                                                                                                  the electricity of wisdom flowed?                                                                                                                                   or a muse seeking a place of abode?                                                                                                                                        Or a story unique to me unfolded?                                                                                                                                         

Oh, poetry, might I ask, From where                                                                                                                            do you come?  To where are you going?                                                                                                             Should I go or should I stay?  Should I go                                                                                                                along  with you just for the ride, or do I help you                                                                                                                       to drive, to stir, to brake, to reverse, to stop?                                                                                                                  I am compelled, and I think it's best that I do                                                                                                                 so, to follow the road, the pathway, the river                                                                                                         flow that you created for me to trod, to compose.                                                                                                            Is it not true that you have a loving commander that                                                                                                 directs you to me that I may in turn give you to the world?

Poetry, let me close for now by saying, a few years ago,                                                                                              a lady complimented me on some of the poetry she had read.                                                                               I thanked her and then felt the urge to further state that I am                                                                                so grateful that The Lord allowed me to write in these my latter years.                                                                For years I had longed to write. The Lord was gracious enough to allow                                                                  me to write and not take to the grave that which was meant to be shared.

070721PSCtest, Your Favorite Poem Of 2021, Chantelle Ann Cooke
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