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echoes of Autumn…
.
voices like leaves rustle and
.
scatter to the wind,
.
yet another poet’s pen
.
has sadly been set aside.
.
.
.
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a wordless farewell…
like the brightest leaves they fall
.
when their season calls.
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but just as the memories
of true love always lingers,
.
.
.
creativity
.
and their inspired poetry
.
forever remain.
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.
.
dedicated to thesilentfingers, Tanumoy Biswas,
Memoirs of a Dragon, cubby and Tiffany Coffman. ty, all.
.
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open hearts hear the
.
.
whispers of the Universe,
.
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and words…..write themselves….
.
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i’m in awe… of words,
.
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and the constant miracle
.
.
of our poetry!
.
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for my new friends
at Poets Pub, for
d’verse Open Link Night
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
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.my Angel of Words
.
.
.
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you will find no fight in these fingers
.
they are slaves to your gentle insistence
.
find a willingness in this empty pen
.
fill it with nuance and inspiration
.
.
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oh, Angel of Words
.
.
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cover me, in your earnest shroud
.
cloak me, with your vocabulary
.
help me hear the meter, divine the rhyme
.
take me on a journey above the constant clouds
.
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………………………………………climb
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…………………climb
.
.
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climb with me into a clean
.
and ever clear sky
.
quiet this busy
.
mind, erase
.
horizons
.
as we
.
glide
.
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……..glide
.
.
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………………glide
.
.
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……………………softly into the
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………………………cradle of pure creativity,
.
……………………only you can open these two eyes
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………………..when they believe there is nothing to see
.
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…………………………………………………..fly
.
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…………………………..fly
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…….fly
.
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with me over these uncharted landscapes
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……..steel my spine, help heal these tragic memories
.
……………fill this fragile heart with bravery
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…………………..to face my unknowns and life’s every mystery.
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this song is an integral part of this poem, not the
tempo as usual but the mood it creates::::enjoy::::
.
and for my friends at
d’verse, Tuesday Open Link
.
.
.
poet, please forgive this selfish intrusion
i have no right whatsoever to impose myself
certainly no expectations, or the need for a reply
but i keep returning to your poetry and pages
there seems a sadness there…or is it my own yearning?
that you’ve possibly uncovered a truth, i could not see
and now, rereading what i’ve written
i fear that this might be a terrible mistake
that you’ll think i’m demanding your attention
to try and become to you, what i certainly am not
it’s just that my native language, i thought in images
these words i write, were never my vocabulary
oh poet, please disregard this foolishness
it should probably remain, just a private note to myself
but the inspiration in sharing words…is saying something else
who could know then 