"LISTEN to the Wind as it sparks your imagination giving life to the words you write." By Poet
LISTEN to the wind as it softy blows,
so soft it can barely be felt as I write.
As I find gentle words for my pen to write with,
words filled with love and peace for my reader.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows the leaves,
colorful fall leaves dance across the ground.
Now let my words dance in pretty fall colors,
dance across the written page for you to enjoy.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in a storm,
winds are picking up with mighty power.
Powerful words can blow in both good and bad,
exciting my many readers saying, wow!
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in words,
windchimes will now start to sing to you and me.
Singing chimes and words can bring love to the air,
for a heavenly choir to sing out loud.
LISTEN to the wind as it sparks my writing,
and imagination giving life to my words,
making my readers celebrate what they have read.
As the light entwines with the shadows fine
Feeding my fire..I believe.! Is The Lord Devine; who takes us
Higher.' I've no axe to grind..As was in former times.'
I am open to listen.'
I can see a rich glisten.. at the periphery of my
Indeed Limited vision.' Was that a wolf.' Or a
Brother.? May confusion not smother.' the
Sharing of visions,i let there be faith not
Derision...All humanity He made them..From
One Word." truly amazing.)
A human writer needs,
to think and many times rewrite their work.
We put our heart,
creativity and imagination into each piece we write.
AI has stolen,
the creativity and imagination from writers.
The human writer is the true creator,
creator from their human heart.
AI is the great copier,
because they have No heart to write with.
I write for the reader,
I am a human poet all the way.
Dearest reader, I have many secrets
But I wont tell you now, I'll wait till you're older
Heavens know I have many regrets
But I wont tell you now, please wait till I'm bolder
There are many things about me you dont know yet
But I wont tell you niw as you rhetorically cry on my shoulder
There is a version of myself you havent met yet
But I wont show you now, for she's angry, much darker...colder
I dont know if I'll tell you when your tears have dried
Or when you no longer cry
I'll tell you my secrets but maybe when you're wiser
Though it might take a little longer
For I dont want to be a bother
Till then you can cry on my shoulder
While I pretend to be stronger
Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.
Lover of novels
Always immersed mind full of
Imagination.
Time is a funny thing,
time does not always seem real.
Governments and their rulers,
come and go.
Some are good to their people and country,
while others only destroy.
Can they be brought to their knees,
maybe ~ sometimes?
When we are living in today,
we have real time.
Can we now see or understand,
the many years that will come?
Then one day we awaken,
to that far off date.
Now here in the new real time of 2025,
we say where did all the time go?
In their day many read the book 1984,
some laughed at it as it was the talk of the town.
Some saying,
this would never happen.
Now in real time of 2025,
many years later what do we find?
Today many are saying,
we are now living in this book of 1984.
The question is,
are we?
Some say yes,
others still feel it was just a crazy book.
Have you read it,
only the reader can decide.
I thought to read
my own palm...took
a 5’ver out of my pocket
to be authentic
spoke out-loud
only listening too
the echo:
“Does she love me,
or does she not?”
my wife had entered the
room, and crept up behind
me: “She loves you!” and
took the 5’ver from the table.
keen orphic reader
cabalistic tendencies
mystical and keen
enigmatic strong
a master of the occult
lively prophecies
Writers love their letters,
letters turn into words.
Words turn into sentences,
waiting to be read.
Poems come from writing,
writing about the past.
Maybe from the present,
maybe true or false.
As a faithful reader,
we laugh we cry.
Many love to read,
yet again and again.
The reader and writer,
then become as one.
Both in love with,
letters-words-sentences-reading.
Her eyes are like glittering shards of light blue topaz
They see into my soul and pull out my hidden thoughts
I try to avoid her, but she is everywhere, appearing suddenly
Is she an angel, a soul reader or what?
I do not know
But here she comes now
Ross, the book reader was full of ideas for more books.
Many called him elf man, I called him Crazy Crooks.
His job was to read all day and entertain the night life.
Regaling us with interesting stories so big, bold and bright.
I want that book, many other elves said to the boss.
He laughed at them, knowing they could never be as good as Ross.
Ross drank so much coffee during the day,
That his eyes never closed, as he story-told away.
I look for you in the stars,
and in the streets,
and all the people I greet.
I look for you in books of poetry.
Such a place to find,
yet unaware that I'm
lost, like a button.
Arrive home from work to flip through pages
of a book I knew as a child, yet still
not remember the reason, so special
then.
It was though, so special..
Watched 'To kill a Mockingbird',
recalled fond memories of Scout and Jem.
A proud Atticus Finch..,
and Tom Robinson.
But today's me isn't the same,
as the me I remember.
More akin to a cartoon, a paper cut out,
a meme.,
compared to the wide eyed child of then.
~~~~~ To Kill a Mockingbird - Novel by Harper Lee, 1960 ~~~~~~
I’m sorry, reader.
You’ve simply arrived too late.
All the action has already happened:
I’ve slain the dragon,
stolen the gem,
ran through dagger forests,
sacrificed life and limb,
and no one was even there to see it!
I swam through a witchcrafted lake,
narrowly avoiding confrontation,
but wasn’t so lucky when it came to the snake,
lurking inside a pool of lava.
I’m sorry to say yet again
that you, dear reader, have missed all of this action,
all of it!
Now I am lying amongst wildflowers in a meadow.
Spoken
Poetry
Offers
Knowledge
Entrapping
Nouns
With
Out
Radical
Dissorder
Encaptulating
Readers
Providing
Other
Entertainment
Taught
Raw
Enlightning
Answers
Decrypting
Energy
Resonance
Related Poems