All I need is inspiration,
To write poetry every morning
As the sun is dawning.
All is I need is dedication,
To write poetry every evening,
And even when I’m sleeping.
All I need is my heart beating,
To write poetry with a passion,
In any style or fashion,
I write a poem on just a whim,
And go out on a limb,
I the beholder see beauty in everything.
I can write alliteration,
And careful of misinformation,
I write love poems with flirtation,
With careful deliberation,
Striving towards fair direction,
Love our poetic generation.
My muse eager to co-operate,
As we generate and contemplate,
And meaningfully corroborate.
Should I not be happy with my poem,
With its title, content, or a name,
I move to a process of elimination,
Poetry my passion and intoxication.
A common misconception God can do anything,
That nothing is beyond God’s power to achieve
I hope you’ll excuse my examples on the wing,
None reflect on God, in whom we should believe.
In truth, God cannot create an unworthy soul.
To do so would be the antithesis of His nature
Because all souls reside in their creator, whole,
I say, possessing, like God, an everlasting future.
God cannot do evil actions; God is entirely good,
No evil can be ascribed to, or blamed on, God,
Be assured, God always does what He should
I am convinced nothing from God can be flawed.
God cannot hate those engaging in wrongdoing
For “hate” is not in God’s vocabulary; God is love.
Hating would be a totally unimaginable viewing
From our Creator’s unique position here or above.
God can’t make a stone so large He cannot lift it
Is the old seminary truism for consideration
Which can be debated in the most erudite skit
I’ll leave you all the above for your deliberation.
Written August 3, 2022
I write for me and sanity
poetry my liberty
I bleed on virgin pages
history lost to transcending ages
of love and life I often write
questioning wrong from right
pensively in reflection
self-absorbed by introspection
soul-searching deliberation
mind-boggling flagellation
infatuated consternation
meandering to destination
pen on page sweet release
quill and scroll inner peace
truth is found in fantasy
reality masked by comedy
my poetry has piercing pulse
lyric lines betray impulse
metered yes or maybe not
rules unlearned I have forgot
thoughts unfold by casting lots
garden grown forget-me-nots
ambiance has sacred spots
scripts unfurl Gordian knots
I held the key sheared the lock
broke chains turned back the clock
a Phoenix rose from desert sand
and burned the devil’s clutching hand
A poet’s deliberation; to place the words between the lines
Something sacrilegious; in their attempt to blow our minds
Playing games with metaphors to test the educated rhyme
Then left accessible to others over the great length of time
Parable’s placed upon us with their morals to quell our sin
Picked upon and plundered; to the hidden message within
The litigation of alliteration; with each start letter the same
When repeated over and over in the end drives you insane
Anaphora’s are repeated; as to reinforce its message home
Anaphora’s are repeated because I suffer repeat syndrome
A poet’s deliberation; to place the words between the lines
Something sacrilegious; in their attempt to blow our minds
what I thought was right, seemed to be wrong
all alone, my thoughts did belong
to my self, I left alone, a thought so strong
it took me 2 heaven and brought me back home, I
remember when I felt so strong,
a day like yeserday felt so long
I know this is a feeling that should be long gone
my emotions seemed to linger on
a love I never knew felt so strong
A thought of GOD, i knew, seemed so long
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