The poet writes from
heart not head, and
from his nib
poised words are
bled upon spun papyrus.
Drawn deep from inkwells in
his soul, both veracity and chimera
flow into word wonderment. From poet’s
veins there flows a stream, vernacular eddies,
profound, extreme, give way to eloquence. On
hardened pulp, at his bequest, wounds once found
beneath his flesh have now been given voice.
Copyright © Shelly Berkeley | Year Posted 2007
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment