Birth Of A Poem
An empty page is looking back at me
Pristine and white, with virgin purity!
I stare for moments; sometimes wait for hours
Feeling its flaws spring forth like garden flowers.
Then words emerge creating spot and blemish
Raping the page, marring its unspoiled face.
A rhyme spews forth, once concealed from my pen
Framing word patterns hidden in the grain.
New images I never could invent
Slowly began transfiguring my intent.
Now on this page a story will unfold
Birthed by a muse for readers to behold.
Moments elapse as I capture the rhyme.
The meter and the tempo take more time.
The poem that sprouts forth I call my own
Is really but the vestment of a loan
My mind will edit gold my heart has spun
And rape its purity by mode and pun.
Though poems oft are born of inspiration
They seldom will escape manipulation.
My final draft I haltingly surrender
Trusting that it retains the muses tender.
~ Sandie Angel a.k.a. May Lu ~
Reindeer
times the poetry comes out faster than
I could type...then there are times I
go over and over knowing there is something
that is not finished....corrected....etc...
we are all alike in the end..very creative
write...floria
A most excellent write - greatly enjoyed!
Robert
Love Tinka
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
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A Poem is like a newborn baby... When it is delivered by the womb of one's heart it must be examined, and proper shots be applied to assure he will grow healthily in the mind of the readers.
"Birth Of A Poem" is a baby that enchants my eyes, pleases my heart and shines my mind.
I Salute You, Sublime Poet!
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
I for one can not sit and wait
for inspiration
mine has to come to me at it's own pace
William