Alacrity, bestows the sorrowful or does mirth elate the callow and fair the damsel is distressed but love is oft fair, fairly gamed and sore about the heart, the festival of anxiety is artless until we part, so like amiable laughter this next of crooning despair a yolk of sullen glee like vampiric sunken lairs.
Government wish
Poverty wane
This afternoon.
Run out of rice
I put bucket
Enough to eat.
Spring come must
Thrift amount food
Live within week.
Wish the debtor
Not come and lift
Pass usury.
The ancient four legged poem
had been premeditatedly cut loose
and now it haunts
the unready, frail and ailing poet.
It barks abruptly from underneath the lush hortensia bushes
shocking the blue light of an unready poet observations,
casting impetus over the faux peace,
rolling around aimlessly.
An apple of discord, fallen
from the mischievous bosom
of a spirited muse.
Just because an impetus arose
Thank dog, and cat,
no pet tee filed - late fee
incurred from this
sole heir, matted son
Avenue of Harris communique
to his youngest sister
busy as a queen bee,
her name mentioned
backwards solely for
wry ming sense – re:
garding Dunning-Harris Shari:
Not there need not
be any clear cut,
nor cloudy total
reason to bolster wee
kind fortitude to write
an email (albeit
with my characteristic
trademark rhyme) to in vite
my own impetus to dash
off a friendly hello
in a gentle
effort to unite
sibling camaraderie,
whether this
material in question
profound or trite
with no pro noun
sub bull adverbial,
or adjectival intent,
and of course nada spite,
this exercise to compose,
whatever occurs within
mum mind quite
likely to concern
general circumstances,
rather than touch upon
any single plight
since, an easily educated guess
can paint (no Norman...
She strings silken snares, spanning every chasm
trying to entrap an unwary fly.
A slight vibration causes her to spasm,
delighting in the news that lunch is nigh.
She dines in opulence; walls draped in silk,
where mummified meals hang as trophies won.
Her inner chamber's the color of milk,
but dewdrops make her web gleam in the sun.
A vicarious thrill follows each kill,
within the theater of life and death.
Hunger supplies the impetus to bite,
and poison ensures flies breathe their last breath.
The spider holds no feelings for the fly,
and yet, for it to live, the fly must die.
Motivation is
Fuel to your mind and spirit
Creating a world
Endowed with expressed talent
Enriched with ancient wisdom
Nayda Ivette
11-4-2015
Lost thoughts in mind
Lifeless, until found
Now words on paper
Sparked by the heart
Love poems are born
Now, my soul is visual
Revealed only to you
Grasp, hold my feelings
They were the impetus
To write of undying love
Now my heart's secret
Is open for you to read
Now exposed, vulnerable
I wonder what you feel
Gone is all my hesitance
And my psyche's mystique
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