Darlene Gifford Poet Rhyme

The Birth of Poems

On paper sheets, crisp and white,
we labor over the words we write.
Newborns, in lines they lay,
their mouths wide open,
with more to say.
They cry at us and won't shut up,
until they are weaned from bottle to cup.
And as they grow, their voices are heard.
Clearly now you'll hear every word.

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Maurice Yvonne October 20, 2014 at 12:30 PM This one is adorable for the poet to read. Darlene Gifford October 20, 2014 at 12:35 PM Thank you, Maurice, I'll accept "adorable" And thanks for reading my poem and taking the time to comment.

Jerry T Curtis October 11, 2014 at 7:42 PM Poems short and sweet, are well read, Darlene you did a great job with this, I look forward to your next work. And yes we are connected. Darlene Gifford October 11, 2014 at 8:57 PM Thank you, Jerry, for your feedback on this poem because it helps to know how my poems are received by others. And I'm sure you feel the same way. I want to read more of your poems, too. I'm glad we connected with each other. Darlene

Carolyn Devonshire October 11, 2014 at 10:24 AM Dear Darlene, I admire the way you personify words as newborns that cry until they are mature enough to be heard. Indeed, your message is tenderly and clearly painted through these words. You have a lovely writing style and I look forward to sharing more of your work. Have a wonderful weekend! Darlene Gifford October 11, 2014 at 11:05 AM Thanks, Carolyn, for your kind comments about my poem. I'll be reading more of your poems, too. Take care, Darlene