Creating poems in written times, giving many thoughts an escape
into better routes of sensations.
Qualifying the existence of everyone who claims their voice in
memory of lifetimes on scores of paper.
Composing the essence of everything good held inside, giving in
to pressures of life as they reach up to grasp my mind and heart.
Taking care to never forget where they all originated and began
in me.
I am still a person, though a little wrinkled skin is showing.My heart still beats and loves and hurts.Won’t you let an old woman have some dignity in her last days of life?Thankful for a listening ear, a caring heart, I can continue with heartfelt joy.
As I sit and remember, images flow like rain, trickling down my face.
Walling sentiments on edges of mountainsides, balancing them with breaths of air as they escalate in meaning, melding together with an abbreviated symbol of love.
Spinning crazily like a magnet in the north pole – my life gyrates with no control.Trying to head in every direction at once – I end up standing still.There are no cures – no remedies for growing up.Each day begins a new day – each day we fill a brand new cup.There are no set…
Figuratively skating about, jumping and landing betweenrhythm and poetry.Alive with sensations of silent power, anticipating greatliterature when finished, experiencing creative talent born within each time I write.
