a poetaster, ballard monger, avid rhymer
churning outverses, a prolific old timer
a wordsmith, lyricist, jotting notes everyday
prolific poeticule, laundering words in play
I am reflective of the Collective,
Choosing to be more effective,
Selective of my thoughts.
Rising from being distraught,
Taught to believe I was small,
I find I'm creating it all.
Breaking down wall after wall,
I fall into my destiny,
The best of me waiting to be seen.
Getting between my patterns,
Splattering old pieces of me,
Seeping into creases secretly,
Knowing what I came to be.
Sitting in silence I wait,
In an enlightened state,
I wipe the slate clean,
Changing my fate.
Straight from the source,
Replotting the course,
Jotting words of force,
To help enforce my directive.
Spreading through the collective,
Love is the true objective,
Be protective of thoughts you choose.
Using the power like a tool,
The fuel to help you cruise,
Into many different views.
I am a reflection of you,
Choosing love to make it through,
A collection of reflections of me too.
how the pendulum swings
from the perspective of a poet
a lonely poet
spewing out painful poetry
poaching prideful strangers
it's magical
and miserable
the pendulum
akin to decision-making
but I am no decision maker
I am barely a writer, even less of a poet
I thought a line came to my mind this morning
it was around 4:30am
that was the first swing
on my first day of writing in a new place
the perspective of a poet
regarding one's on poetry, writing
it's devastating, more so damaging
but by 4:30pm, a few titles came to mind (unfortunately no lines worth jotting down)
a poet's swinging pendulum
Justly, the old year ends;
Jabbed by New Year's Ball to
Journey down fresh, rich starts.
Junk lame ways, create change-
Joy to have first month's slate;
Jotting down thoughts anew-
Juiced January reigns!
No rhyme or reason just jotting words down
could I put them together for a thought profound
Sometimes it all comes together
sometimes not
Read and read them over
nothing close to plot
Crumple the paper toss in the trash
think it over possible to rehash
Out of the trash smooth to read
wrinkled words mocking me
Then eureka how could I not see
just let them flow and speak to me
No rhyme or reason does it need to be
just random thoughts flow into poetry.
The sheer amount of overflowing, fuming, fumbling feelings
Might explain or clarify the lack of my coherence
Hastily I’m jotting down the first thing I think up
Stretched out silence floods my ears, about to make the jump
I reminisce the way your hand held my hand like a trophy
Like rainfall your expression fell, you knew you couldn’t know me
I try to pry away the guilt, amends are their own trial
Biting the hand that feeds you is its own form of survival
The sky and sea connect and melt in static, stagnant beauty
It turns into a supercut, my pain is now a movie
I get to sit here and observe, as waves kiss rocks below me
They’ll hug my body nice and close, the water salty, foamy
my muse Trixie does not allow us to have writers block
or even writers slow down or writers caution
our words jump onto a page easily and quickly
where do they come from? I have reference books
two thesauruses, a dictionary, and scientific facts for kids
I open them up if I need a starting out point
begin jotting down words or ideas that I like
pretty soon they form a poem
one poem begets another poem and another
pretty soon I have ten poems,
this is in a twenty-seven minute period
I can almost always write ten in twenty-seven minutes
Life is like score
After the jotting is done
There is next to come.
We enter the studio of life with a portion of our album already recorded. Some of the songs we inherit leave us distorted. A number of tunes could have been woven together through a history of heartache. Leaving us to question a trail of mistakes.
But what if we can rewrite the lyrics to our life’s soundtrack. The words we’d choose could leave us less battered and bruised. Understanding we have a choice to find our own voice. So grab a pen and start jotting down some new lines. The world is awaiting your remastered design.
And I set off,
on this journey of writing
It seems impossible but exciting
I am Imagining, who is going to be my victim
The one who will read my handwriting
Well, problem solved, thanks to typing
I cannot wait any longer
Nothing can contain this hunger
I have to start jotting them down
Looking at different subjects at dawn
There are a lot of untold stories,
but as I start to put pen to paper, they vanish
In these parts of the world,
reading is mostly to pass examinations
They would rather hear it than read
Only a few have value for reading
So who will I write for?
For now I will write for the diary
For the many reasons it is unattainable
are the same reasons it is achievable
It must be written for it to be read
I had learnt to draw patterns
before I could comprehend the meaning
Before writing becomes meaningful
I must embrace reading.
I am jotting down blueprints...
Mapped out as such to give hints.
As if a gun comprising trigger...
Planned as such for something bigger.
Creative writing I am making...
Yours for optional taking.
Aiming to make a collection...
Seeking so in my direction.
Poems I am writing somehow...
In the scheme of things for now.
Ideas formed inside my mind...
Uploaded, most you will find.
All of which I am using...
Not all when it comes to choosing.
Some serve as a stepping stone...
Others, I will leave alone.
If I write regarding you,
Chances are that this brain stew
Is more personal - true and tried...
Likely to be kept aside.
Otherwise, such other visions...
Considered in my decisions.
Collected, reworked in this case...
Stay posted and watch this space.
Written By: D. Collins 6/18/24
We get a one-time visit through ups and downs of life.
Some of them are good, and some cut like a knife.
But we still go through it, and somehow outlive it.
Jotting down good notes during our one-time visit.
We get one journey, regardless of what you've heard.
Anyone who's come back, I wouldn't take their word.
There are no offramps or street detours.
The flaws we acquired cannot be cured.
We only get one chance to trek through life.
During the one-time visit hope that you lived right.
Even in passing, we can always hold dear.
The mere fact we left something to prove we were here.
You can take my advice for whatever it is worth.......
It's only a brief moment we tread upon this earth.......
Ideas flowing
pen and paper is handy
jotting every line
A pen and paper on the desk
Wondering what I will write next
Something silly, fun or scary
Maybe I will make you teary
With the words and lines I wrote
From all of my little notes
Jotting down my crazy thoughts
So their not misplaced or lost
Sometimes I can write forever
Something inside pulls a lever
Sentences will flow with ease
Its like a writing disease
That invades me every time
I can't control my love of rhymes
Other times it takes a halt
Thoughts locked up inside a vault
That wont open--it's locked shut
There's no words inside my gut
Emptiness fills up my soul
Leaving me alone and hallow
No inspiration to release
These deep feeling inside me
Day to day I never know
Will there be something to show
To my poet friendly group
Know as The Poetry Soup
That I've come to really see
As more than friends--their family
Better again
On get quote this
Stopped wi the wrangles
Complex focus
Offering angles
Left with the hurt
Top wi the spin
An ethic of work
Offer a win
It’s got to be
Say as it lives
This prophecy
Takes and it gives
Dealing on maps
Frames require
Feeling with contrast
Same desire
Haze is exciting
Earning the list
Phasing the writing
Turn wi the twist
Just stay wi the round
Got so to holler
Upstaging the pound
Offload the dollar
Sign so fantastic
Then it left
Rhyme show and classed it
Treble cleft
See the plans
Show the plate
Kilograms
Overweight
Try to decipher
Things that arise
Cry when you’re hyper
Sing with the eyes
When they close
Scream with it shake
Mention those
Dreams are awake
Put on a list
Be jotting
Sure, from the gist
Keep spotting
Watch the heroes
Set it a gem
Stop the zeros
Better again
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