My poetry
My poetry is my heart beat,
it is my sleep, my thought,
it is me and what I am,
It is the thread that holds me
and many journeys I have made,
do not judge it by its rhyme,
or the meshwork of words,
but look at it as a part of my being,
you may have your own scale to judge,
do not place it against my verse,
let it be like it is,
for what it is worth,
I do not write to cater to them
and their ideas of composition,
but write to fulfil the breath that is,
that speaks of my life,
life that I have lived and known,
my poetry is
time’s signature of me as I was,
in an unseen volume that holds my thought.
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Categories:
meshwork, emotions,
Form: Free verse
Filagree
"A filigree of snow is fragile and lovely,
but even more beautiful when they are etched together."
~ quote by poet
Fine filigree motifs are being drawn on my window
Painted by the wind, holding a brush dipped in snow
Each pattern a fragile engraving in a different design
White roses climbing a trellis on their flowering vine
Soon, the frosted filigree will occlude the landscape
Snow covered hills blanketed by an alabaster drape
Never quite as beautiful as the white laced tapestry
created as if embroidered with snowflake majesty
My fingertips trace the threads as if they were fine lace
A meshwork of embellished tatting, frozen in place
Chilled, for a while, is this frost on each glass pane
until sunlight reigns. Such is their plight, their bane
Elegant scrollings that sparkle like diamonds, bright
Each delicate filigree will quickly disappear from sight
when radiant beams come alive at the waking of dawn
to become nothing more than puddles watering my lawn
February 18, 2023
Writing Challenge -F Words Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
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Categories:
meshwork, beauty, snow,
Form: Rhyme
Beyond the Quiet Face
Images of ghosts fly behind my eyes
I shudder
sometimes it's cold here
below the belly of warm eyes.
If you could would you transcend?
Slip in between the day to day
and stop time in your mind
to look at me?
Beyond the quiet face
into the underlay
meshwork of elements
paradox, uncertainty, childlike hope
entangled with a personal universe.
Would you look closer?
Intrigued? Interested?
Or brush your fingertips
across the weblike strands
to see which hum against your energy?
There's an internal waterfall
pulling everything down.
It slows me.
Would you taste from it?
Or walk away hurriedly
afraid of getting wet,
afraid to drown?
I wish I could open up my palms like a book
the pages would be tissue paper thin.
It would be called layers
and it would tell the story
of the way we paper mache our souls
and put overlays around our intentions.
I would rip at it one page at a time
and read every word to you
before throwing them into the fire.
Sometimes statements are really questions
they barely whisper their meaning
in a look in the eye
or the tremor of a voice.
How can we we know somebody else
when we barely know ourselves.
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Categories:
meshwork, introspection
Form: I do not know?