I sat under a tree somewhere in Nebraska
after a late-night drive in a storm to here
my assignment. Nestled in the sandhills
the morning whispered. In silence I stayed
by a lake where a drive ended. The sun
reflected off a pond, my reflections
to begin the day. Trees and grasses sprouted
from sand fed by underground streams.
A soft breeze whispered, too. I closed
my eyes. Serenity. Pioneers had given their lives
to discover this land. It was mine for now.
I discovered the land for myself. A white cabin
near me was quiet, whether abandoned or not
it didn’t matter. I embraced the silence. Lost
in time. I felt in my mind a new poem form
the words I longed to share when I’d get
back home. Lines broke and found new lines.
Stanzas white spaces moments of silence
always said more than I could say as I gazed
at clouds drifting through open skies. A poem
or two I could take home with me on the long drive.
I had to admit I never knew what I would find.
The internet is down so I decide to go “old school”
I have conjured up a notebook and a black pen
Come on, I encourage myself, you used to do this all the time
My fingers are itching to type
We have typed every poem for the past seven years
You can do it! I reassure them
The right hand picks up the pen
What do I do? My left hand queries in a sad way
You get to hold the notebook down, I reply
Tried to sound reassuring and enthusiastic
We both know it’s a mundane creepy job
words 99
You know what I mean
with a pen and some paper
they will then be seen
With keyboard and screen
we type them all quickly down
before they are lost
Ideas or thoughts
expressed in common language
understood can be
When ideas formed
are remembered in the mind
by words they're expressed
_____________________
I have my dictionary, a thesaurus and a laptop filled with billions of pieces of information at my fingertips. There’s a staggering amount of words and combinations of words hidden in my keyboard. Like scrabble pieces spread out on the table, all I need to do is pull them out in the right order, at the right time, and with the right flow to create the right image. Aah, this should be easy.
writing is easy
getting your words to make sense
is the hardest part
Morning awakens with a whisper
as I hold onto dreams.
Conversations play in my mind
and I linger in bed.
an early luminescence stirs
I ask myself about the love
I feel and in the next breath
ask does it matter
if it’s old or new.
I look out the window
In my chest I feel something
great, but I can’t give it a name
Verses run through my head
waiting to take form on page
and discover a new day
(off-sonnet form by Mike Bayles)
Line of Inquiry: "What if life is a lucid dream?"
I’ve checked my Emails
and read poems online
in haste— one reading
always begs another.
The sun peers through the window.
I go back to a draft of a story
started the other day
and set it aside when I
get ready for work.
Memories know no time.
The housecat crawls up the steps
and I give him a few minutes
on my lap, but he wants me
the entire day.
The story I began won’t let go.
At the store we rush customers
through lines after brief conversations
but ask them back. Repeat customers
become friends of sorts.
Somewhere a child cries.
The story needs to be nurtured—
It must be looked at and revised.
Don’t rush me, it says
and I come back to the pages
each day until the story
grows into itself.
Every long journey starts with a step.
I keep a pencil in my pocket,
Here is why,
It's my electric socket,
Without it I'll cry.
When I get an idea,
I write it down,
A bird, My freind Thea,
Even about a clown.
I make it into a poem,
When i'm free,
Which is not often,
I am very busy.
To write a poem,
Here's what you need,
A pen and imagination,
Another poem you'll plead
Your heart has a yearning
And a burning desire
To share what you’re learning
Like voices of a choir
Small pieces of paper
With the things you have thought
A con or a caper
How the villain was caught
No time is a wrong time
If you wake up at night
With a thought of a rhyme
Then you know you must write
Watching movies with you
Your friends do not enjoy
For you catch every clue
And discern every ploy
And time seems to fly by
When you sit down to write
With that glint in your eye
There is no end in sight
You longed for the teacher
To ask each for a story
You wrote down your feature
Of our flag called, “Old Glory”
Friends with the dictionary
Filled with word after word
To some it seemed scary
When the big words they heard
But not to the writer
You knew you’d become
A reader delighter
You knew you’d please some
So write on forever
As your stories you tell
A writer so clever
Right inside you doth dwell
Free me from this bold transgression,
Random words without expression.
No clear thought from them unfolding,
I’d rather listen to a scolding.
My plead is this, if not profound,
Please mute thy instrument of its sound.
For better yet it’d surely be,
If some message the reader could not see.
Please add some rhyme, or at least a rhythm,
Expound on something, begin with a given.
They say that the wind as it rustles the trees,
It’s only a wind ‘til one calls it a breeze.
Chaos will come with no rhyme or reason,
To thy own words be true, no need for treason.
cat at my side
as I poem
a jungle of words
to write a haiku
here is what you need to do
choose a nature scene
a large thirsty moose
drinking from a flowing stream
nature meets its needs
count the syllables
you need for each of the lines
five, seven, and five
state your thought clearly
put nature on center stage
now give it a try
I
will be
creating
a nonet poem
the reverse format
will be my example
in forty-five syllables
this line will have eight syllables
and the final line, nine syllables.
Poems may be simple, try writing a rhyme,
add some images to make it sublime.
Simple words may make meaningful phrases,
difficult words can turn into mazes.
You could write a Limerick, just for fun,
don’t forget a surprise before you’re done.
Write a nice Haiku, a scene of nature,
like flowing mountain streams with water pure.
A Sonnet would be nice before you’re through,
three verses of four, the last one is two.
Choose your own rhyme scheme, the last two must rhyme,
here’s my last two to summarize this time.
By writing a poem, you’re given a way,
to share with others what you have to say.
The first Wednesday of the month
we sit around the table and share
poems written with care and revised.
We take in their shapes and forms
and read between the lines.
We gasp with wonder about creations
and search for other words
to make each verse stronger.
Each of us has written volumes by now
the lives we shared month-by-month.
A retired lawyer has returned
from his vacation in Spain
and I’m back from four years
of traveling through the Midwest for work.
The sights shape nuances of our pieces.
Each of us takes the time allowed to read
and get feedback but time slips from our fingers.
At eight PM, the library closes.
Our conversations continue in the hallways
and as we move toward the stairs.
I take in the sight of paintings and stop
when I see the shadow of the group’s founder
on the wall. She nods at me.
You got me to a bower of mulberry blue,
And made me stick to it like with a glue,
You gave me the joy of expressing the self,
And filled with the books of joy - My shelf.
When I write you I feel I am in heaven,
And I won't be harmed even by the black raven,
You gave me joy and made me pine,
For writing you and craving for you time and again-
Like a glass jar of sweet red wine.
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