John Squires Poet Rhyme

And the Poet Writes On

The poet sat perplexed at the moving of the pen
Was he writing prose of was it poetry again?
Verse by verse it poured on out
It seemed to him a silent shout
Descriptive words, symphony and vibrant light
Reach out expressively, he knew he had to write
It wasn’t just some wayward words that streaked forth from his pen
He knew that he had written poetry again

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Barbara Gorelick January 24, 2015 at 6:58 PM Enjoyed your poem, perhaps it will inspire me..there is nothing streaking from my pen these days. lol. BG John Squires January 24, 2015 at 8:44 PM Thank you for your nice comment. Inspiration comes most anywhere. I once wrote 20 poems, mostly haiku, while waiting in a doctor's office. Sometimes it is just a bird, a tree, a friend you see. Just remember it all comes from your heart. May the Lord bless you with the inspiration you need.