Poets are the ones who began the conversation, their word paving the way for philosophy,
Parmenides, with his poetry, laid the foundation of thought, bringing philosophy into the light of consciousness,
But then the paths diverged, poets continuing to reveal truth through metaphors and rhythms,
Memory and nostalgia woven into verses, in enjambments that flow continuously,
While philosophy created metaphysical narratives, unraveling with each deep introspection.
Plato banned poets from his Republic, creating a chasm between word and thought,
But it was a short-lived rift, for people prefer the simplicity of poetry,
Over the philosopher's monologue, which stretches like an endless shadow,
Even philosophers saw through the veil of complex jargon,
A language game so esoteric that no one could fully decipher it.
But not the poets, they continued to forge ahead, showing us the liminality of truth,
And we continue to do so, for poetry is breathed and felt,
Like an eagle sensing the weight of the air it never sees,
Only through the delicate dance between clouds and leaves, where truth reveals itself in silence.
Categories:
enjambments, fantasy,
Form: Free verse
Let’s not make a scene—
not in front of the metaphor-curious.
We owe them a semblance
of shared syllabic stability.
You take Tuesdays,
I’ll keep weekends and the enjambments.
Let’s split the metaphors equitably—
you keep flame, I’ll keep ash.
No one touches liminal.
I’ll speak highly of your similes
at open mic,
nod with gentle gravitas
when they ask if we’re
still...collaborating.
We’ll stage polite reposts,
perhaps a comment or two—
Stunning work! Your voice is missed!
Even though our voices
are on everything. Loudly.
We’ll give them what they crave:
poised poets
posing as lovers
in the filtered light
of someone’s Instagram story.
Not because it’s true—
God, no.
But because some of the haiku kids
just found their footing,
and I won’t be the one
to shake their form.
Categories:
enjambments, extended metaphor, friendship, funny
Form: Free verse
I dream dreams in rhymes and verses,
A poet's blessing in curses,
Vague images pop up in sleep,
Words in jumbles assault me deep;
I dream dreams in rhythmic fragments,
Thoughts quiver without enjambments,
Prompts come in syllables broken,
Illusions signalled unspoken;
I dream dreams that shake me awake,
Midnight muse greets drowsy daybreak,
Ideas cross o'er slumberland,
Muddled whims in poetic strand;
I dream dreams in staccato beat,
Contemplating meter and feet,
Nodding to nightly notions new,
Creative fancy's fleeting view;
I dream dreams that direct my pen,
Grasping glimpses beyond my ken,
Composing fading melodies,
Breathing life into memories.
Categories:
enjambments, dream, poetry, writing,
Form: Quatrain
in the way that your lips shimmer and your eyes flash simile-smiles making many reflections
with the irregular undulations rhythm'ng off your tongue,
with words flying out lyrically, kissing everyone
we are touched and easily forgotten in this age of impermanent ink,
with our ears perched high on a mystery, we're overlooked
for speaking in clouds expectant of thunder,
for rustling leaves in a tree,
for threadbare jeans flaking mud from long walks by the river,
for taking solace in the Sea
among writers we are the infirm, the mad heretics of desire,
ridiculed for whiskers and soft-eyes,
for bumping into enjambments, fish-like
and working out destiny by changing it,
moving it, Moon like...
we are the occasional ones,
risking decay and our sanity
for these holy short comings
and goings,
rather than face the impossibility of facts
or that self-righteous blind-eye of economics ...
there is mercy in this daring,
there is an art to this astonishing,
beyond these reasons which trap us,
beyond our need to pay the rent,
while the world conspires to ignore us,
we swell
Categories:
enjambments, allegory, inspirational
Form: Free verse