Inspiration

Whate'er we leave to God, God does,
And blesses us;
The work we choose should be our own,
God leaves alone.

If with light head erect I sing,
Though all the Muses lend their force,
From my poor love of anything,
The verse is weak and shallow as its source.

Five A.M.

Elan that lifts me above the clouds
into pure space, timeless, yea eternal
Breath transmuted into words
Transmuted back to breath
in one hundred two hundred years
nearly Immortal, Sappho's 26 centuries
of cadenced breathing - beyond time, clocks, empires, bodies, cars,
chariots, rocket ships skyscrapers, Nation empires
brass walls, polished marble, Inca Artwork
of the mind - but where's it come from?

Poetic Masterpiece

Poetic Masterpiece: A Childbirth Of Profundity.
Like delivery of Divine Revelations 
which favours calmness of wilderness;  
It's brought forth in Creative-Glory-Of-Solitude:  
an abode of Enlightenment in whose mirror of grace,  
purest passions reflect out from shady reality —
to gratify inflamed curiosity of Inward-Eye,  
as it wanders around source of enchantment,  
seeking in expanded awareness to capture
the essence of a phenomenon shrouded in mystery.

I'm Blest (Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love)

Of all of God's creation
I love you foremost
Tower of inspiration
And kindness utmost

Providing motivation
Giving me support
Helping ease frustration
With friendly comfort

Imitation

I saw the Death, and she was seating
By quiet entrance at my own home,
I saw the doors were opened in my tomb,
And there, and there my hope was a-flitting
I'll die, and traces of my past
In days of future will be never sighted,
Look of my eyes will never be delighted
By dear look, in my existence last.

Farewell the somber world, where, precipice above,

A Poet's Heart

He had a poet's heart
When he melted with pain at the sight of a wounded bird
Like an ice cube melting in summer's heat
The helpless eyes of grieving bird's mate
Turned his heart's cries into verses of poetry
This famous story is an inspiration
For poets around the world

On rainy days a poet's imagination streams and floats
Like a little paper boat in gushing rainwater

Forgive You

Forgive you
It is not hard to forgive you
Transparent heart, i know who are you
It is okay to forgive you
Need no reason, just forgive you

Pains u gave me, smiles i give you
Hates can stab me, please not to you
You innocent in the eyes of anger
Truth will be seen a bit longer

A Common Addiction Among Poets

Intoxicated by the inspiration
Of his trade—
With mental powers at work,
A true poet rarely sleeps.
His mind ever churning
With powerful imagery
That produces thought,
Sound, rhythm and gesture.
He molds with metaphor,
Shapes with simile,

A Thing Called Hope

In all worthwhile endeavors,
No matter size or scope.
It shall either have a life,
Or die, a thing called hope.

It all depends on caring.
Those willing to take part.
Hope, to be sustained at all;
Requires a beating heart.

To ----

I remember the marvellous moment
you appeared before me,
like a transient vision,
like pure beauty’s spirit.

Lost in hopeless sadness,
lost in the loud world’s turmoil,
I heard your voice’s echo,
and often dreamed your features.

Song Of Love Xxiv

I am the lover's eyes, and the spirit's
Wine, and the heart's nourishment.
I am a rose. My heart opens at dawn and
The virgin kisses me and places me
Upon her breast.


I am the house of true fortune, and the
Origin of pleasure, and the beginning
Of peace and tranquility. I am the gentle

Common Things

I like to hear of wealth and gold,
And El Doradoes in their glory;
I like for silks and satins bold
To sweep and rustle through a story.

The nightingale is sweet of song;
The rare exotic smells divinely;
And knightly men who stride along,
The role heroic carry finely.

A Different Sky Is Waiting

We’ve been in the rain so long
That our eyes are sore and red;
When joy is missing,
We gaze down too long at our feet
As we slowly walk through the city,
But there must be a different sky waiting
Offering love and inspiration.

Beneath these yellow factory skies,
Even the street lights look sadly dim,

A Single Note

A lilac for the anonymity,
Of Mrs. Hinkle's simple poetry.
It shines within the margins of its space,
A single note of captivating grace.

The subtle sun through ancient maple leaves,
Paints memory with a gentleness that grieves.
A touch of soul is music to the bone,
Even after every wing has flown.

........ On Poetry

Such princely and linguistic feats
As penned by Shelley, Byron, Keats
Though rich and eloquently grand
Are oft` too deep to understand

Their thoughts expressed through poetry
In prose or perfect symmetry
Bewilder yet this humble mind
Their meaning, hidden, still to find

A Great Poetess

Admired and enjoyed,
As a guide I deployed,
Messages I found,
In her poems so profound,
Her messages of ethics,
Her sense of civics,
A true loving heart,
In the battle with thwart!

Always wins the wars,

Song Of Myself

I was a Poet!
But I did not know it,
Neither did my Mother,
Nor my Sister nor my Brother.
The Rich were not aware of it;
The Poor took no care of it.
The Reverend Mr. Drewitt
Never knew it.
The High did not suspect it;
The Low could not detect it.

Sarcasm

Can't compose a rhyme?
Don't have the time?
My brain's gone dead?
What's that you said?
Now don't be rude,
Or be downright crude,
I'm not brain dead
If that's what you said.
Inspiration is nil,
Probably this chill,

In A World Of Poetry

Loved to write as far back as memory goes
Without any thought for a verse to compose

Poetic expressions of innate creativity
So admire the effect and it's sensitivity

Words dive straight to heart like an arrow
Flying through sky piercing at point narrow

Each word so concise of fit and precise

Farm Implements And Rutabagas In A Landscape

The first of the undecoded messages read: "Popeye sits
in thunder,
Unthought of. From that shoebox of an apartment,
From livid curtain's hue, a tangram emerges: a country."
Meanwhile the Sea Hag was relaxing on a green couch: "How
pleasant
To spend one's vacation en la casa de Popeye," she
scratched
Her cleft chin's solitary hair. She remembered spinach