Nourishing ideas from little seeds – watching them grow and bloom.
Standing aside, allowing them room,
being careful to pull out just the weeds, ideas are sown.
One day soon to be explored in written words.
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Floodgates of grief open inside, end-to-end, flowing
Washing it with sympathy, collecting in my mind,memorialized for all time in this rhyme of poetry.Set forth from within, sorrow shows itself timidly, vulnerably, to the world outside.Heart of grief, gingerly held with childlike hands,afraid it will spill out and be trampled by death’sinsistent embrace.
Silence stilling my mind, then like magic, I’m writing of things that I’m hearing through songs and rhythms being played by Storm.
Precious moments spent in songs of the sixties.
Rippled effects of landscapes being caught in reflections of
Tantamount to elevated heights, tossed above the city inspirits of progress.Avalanching down streets, buildings scatter reality to thewind and man’s folly seeks praise for it..Running to outrun the growth of progress, calculatingarchitectural styles and models does not qualify any of it asart of beauty.People do not wish to sound ungrateful, but there are betterways to…
Titillating my mind, giving me new dreams to set in sleep and memorize.
Bleeding from memories, emotions flow, covering me with intense feelings, making me feel what I don’t want to.Trying to escape, searching for exits to get me far away from the past, instead I turn another corner and run headlong into anotherjust as hurtful and full of pain, sent from yesterday’s corner ofmy mind’s heart.Slicing and…
Guessing rhymes hidden in notes and beats, awaiting formulas to set them in.
Taking care not to rock the boat, yet keep rocking anyway and sailing into the sunset waylaid by the very frailty of the situation.Slapping against minds with rhythm as it delicately senses the end.