So I have experienced some years of life. I have tried. I have failed. I have lived. Not died yet, but have imagined it. My mind is not a very bright place and I like it like that. I have been known to be quite 'out there'. I take it that I do not have to explain myself to another poet, these things, feelings and emotions are why a lot of us start writing. Start wanting to change things or escape things. It is why we create our own worlds and walk blindly in reality. My heart beats for my inner worlds. Reality is a strange place for me, it is too happy at moments and others too sad, it doesn't have a balance. It is a scale that keeps tipping from one side then to the other, but I guess that is what makes the world interesting.My poems are rather different, but many poets would probably say the same. Its the eyes you look at the poems with that changes.
I felt like writing a poem about life
but then something else caught my eye
little Bow-Peep going far far astray.
...
Circles of emotions.
Doubts that are empowering,
is a flame warm?
Does the snow mean winter?
...
My walls are of glass.
The Lord has washed them,
They are the purest that they have ever been.
My glass used to be brown with filth.
...
Stars are bright in a moonless sky.
Grass frosty in the early morning dew
The ocean water is lapping the sand
as if it will never see it again
...