Compulsion Poems

Compulsion

If there were no one else but me,
~~I would still be writing my poetry.

Written August 23, 2022

Monet and His Compulsion

ah, yes, Monet 
delicate brush
subtle pastels
repetition
trying to get it right
trees, lily pads, meadows, flowers,
redoing and redoing,
the same scene many times over
trying to perfect his craft
he did not realize that he already had

Steps

Steps ***

Remember standing barefoot
In a stream or lake or ocean as the current of water
 ran cool and fast over the ankles?
That liquid, which made our planet
a home for life, beckoning us and so delightfully.

Think of walking in night, without
lights, becoming self-contained,
losing external references, seeking the moon
 or some neighbor’s window, alight still...while 
glancing quickly

Charlotte's Compulsion

Charlotte tried a new kind of game
her results always stayed the same
	called tic-tac-toe
	it was never a go
poor Charlotte was driven insane

The Price of Poetry

no din less more pronounced upon your ear
scallions separated blend to meet the stew
when hearty hearts drink out the broth of fear
and bury those with heavy hearts they knew

long mornings sun bestowed upon
when laddies grew beneath
and lads to lasses onward come
to part the laurel wreath

Tis hill we fools apart the path will travel
hats upon a

Fascination With Light

Desire glides in on calico wings,
a breath of a moth
seeking a companionable light,

where it hovers, unsure,
sullen, shy or demure,
in the margins of night,

a soft blur.

With a frantic dry rattle
of alien wings,
it rises and thrums one long breathless staccato

and flutters and drifts on in dark aimless flight.

And yet it returns
to the flame, its delight,
as long as

Compulsion

I feel compelled to write again
about this girl, ad nausium,
as though she will appear
because I do.

She said “You’ve got to let her go,
because her pain will only grow;
you’ll reap what you have sown! 
It’s only selfish,” 

But I know that behind those words, 
She thought, “Your children are like swords
to me—oh, aren’t I adored?
It’s now,

It Grabbed Hold With Teeth

It grabbed hold with teeth
Waking me, and dashing me against my own self
Skipping the bathroom 
I ran to the computer

Trying to remember some of it
Magical words placed by spirit 
Only half-understood by me.
I did not know I was a writer yet.

Let alone a poet!
Happens more often now
That I am willing to accept
My own soul truth.

Why Do I Write

Why do I write
I cannot not write, that is why
It is a compulsion
I wake up with a poem or a song spitting out of my mouth.
I jump out of my bed and hit the computer before the john
People in my family know when the keys are clicking,
Do not speak to me
Do not look at me
And

Scrabble Is My Compulsion

Wag, gaw, art, rat, tar, tea, eat, ate
An avid scrabble player, I can see two or three words
Simultaneously now. 
I see mthabta and think bathmat.

I have received best game of the week
For three years worth of weeks. 
I do not say this as a brag.
My point is that I like word games.
WoKn TWha I mean?

If

Excessive Compulsion

And her voice is the tingle of upbeat blues, 
the winsome rap amid my heavy footsteps, past 2 am...
She holds my hand as I’d never wake up 
after twilight, drinking to the end of a broken bottle, 

How those arms cuddle me like my hair  
isn't filthy , avoiding normal  showers that
I can’t

The Plum Compulsion

a black rose offers pink play on golden hayfield - a plum compulsion


January 3, 2018
Monoku 4: Colours - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One

You'Er My Compulsion

I breathe you like air 
every moment you stay with me
In my imagination
you drive me relish and cherish
this beautiful world around
I see this world differently
gauge people's intentions
and motives within feelings
Poetry you're my compulsion.

The Journey From Compulsion

But without your consent I wanted to do nothing, that your good deed 
might not be by compulsion, as it were, but voluntary. (Philemon 1:14 
NKJV)



The redemption of God is beyond forgiveness 
And insurance against eternal separation
From the God who shares His life with the known.

Redemption creeps from the changed heart
And crawls to capture the swinging

The Fakir Is Under No Compulsion

The Fakir is under no compulsion
To teach you
To relieve you from pain
To grant pleasure abundant
You may walk to him 
You may not
Fakir will walk with you 
Fakir’s journey is no seasonal
At times when you feel
You walked too far
You are lone traveler
You are junked
Even at home, you occupy only a corner
The onset of remorse
You have to,

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