Short Final Draft Poems

A mind flowing through creativity,
Opening senses to conductivity,
Pour every internal notion,
Every churned emotion,
To the craft,
Til final draft,
It is incomplete,
Until art is obsolete....

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My poetry selfish,
a teacher I’m not,
my message once for saying

Instruction a tool
long missing and gone,
imagery not relaying

The ivory tower
a dungeon to me
where freedom goes to die

The wind in the willows,
a hawk on the wing
—my verse to course and fly

(The New Room: October, 2021)...

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I write, it's my right 
     A fiery fire,
I pen with my pen
     A daunting desire,

I scribe like a scribe 
     A wordless win,
I note in my note
     A gainless grin,

I draft a final draft 
     A fortune found,
I record for the record 
     A solid sound,

I scrawl on a scroll 
     A silent sign,
I script a new script 
     My wonder wine.

08.16.2020

...

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My poems don’t really ever rhyme
I’m never good with words

I’ve never studied poetry 
or lessons to be learned

But that can’t stop my needing
My desire to be heard

To scream and shout into the void 
When my heart feels burned

So instead of rhyming like I am
I only write free verse

And usually my final draft
Is really just my first

I say what comes into my mind
Launch it free like a bird

And pray the words that I set free
Will show me to the world...

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