He bleeds words all over the universe
like rain, each one becomes an addiction
to our brain, we are content to feed on
his vital lines,which we save as classics
but when he stops we become like jittery
junkies needing a fix
How have we come to this,it's not the poets
fault,yet we blame him for having created
this need in us, but what about his need?
without us his words die on the page,until
we read them to life,thereby creating the
poet writer- readers, marriage, which is a
habitual partnership with equal necessity
great piece Eileen, I try to read as much as I can, my problem is I have too much to say, it comes out in the form of verse, I can't quit writing, things come to me and I write them if they're not too mean. I write a lot about love, I was with my dysfunctional family this weekend and the love I write about saved me from going the other way with some of my foolish family members, and some of them had the nerve to drink alcohol, can't give Indians fire water, hugs
I must say Eileen This and outstanding piece
True we must feed upon each others praises, comments
and reviews, we must respect each other work
And now I must get up on my feet and do my share,
for I have slacked down a wee.
Love & peace
Funny, last night I listened to the archive recording of Billy Collins reciting "You, Reader", which speaks into exactly this situation, Eileen. Indeed, I wholeheartedly agree: the poetic process goes on indefinitely... from the moment it leaves the author's mind and pen, whenever it is read, spoken or thought about by the minds that interact with it, it lives and grows. Love this way of thinking. Mutual and organic. A symbiosis. Bless you. Kate xx
Hope you are not writing about me. ;-) But then again, I do. Sounds like something someone would say in a marriage ceremony.
My vacation broke my usual weekly offering. And then last week, my poem wouldn't post until Monday. This week is about the universe -- strange coincidence.
Such an empathy you exhibit here. Poetry, in all of its colorful enigma, is fast becoming a moot point, though, in this changing world. But, still, there is an undeniable connection that happens between two souls when they read each other and connect. OIftentimes its better to read a soul than to experience it face to face.
Blessings ...
Poetry does not exist without this symbiotic relationship. And you explained that so creatively in your beautiful poem. A masterful job. May peace be always with you. JMW
I agree, E.T.; the beauty of the poem, which the poets try to write, is truly in the eye of the beholder, the reader. Words take on different interpretations by each reader, and they (words) become realities...
I behold beauty in your words, dear friend!!
Blessings and Love ~~ Micke
And may this always be true! So mutually fulfilling. Sometimes I think that the real poets are the readers, for it is their muse who sings our words (probably better than we do). I love this one.
A great write my friend, I do believe that a poet sees things differently than others, especially nature...with a deeper appreciation not just the surface...well done indeed!
Blessings,
Joyce B.
Awesome write I agreed Eileen
Every time I look at the skies or mountains
Natures beauty, words flow in my mind
Making me feel like a addict of poetry
Beautiful write!!
Peace Love and hugessss...Morning Star
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Cryssa :~)
True we must feed upon each others praises, comments
and reviews, we must respect each other work
And now I must get up on my feet and do my share,
for I have slacked down a wee.
Love & peace
William
God bless you. Kathy
My vacation broke my usual weekly offering. And then last week, my poem wouldn't post until Monday. This week is about the universe -- strange coincidence.
Ron
Blessings ...
And I love that pic.
Georg
your words inspire..
With much love
Ron
I behold beauty in your words, dear friend!!
Blessings and Love ~~ Micke
Ted
Love,Christine
From the opening line "The Troubadour" sings to glow.
In respect,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Blessings,
Joyce B.
Every time I look at the skies or mountains
Natures beauty, words flow in my mind
Making me feel like a addict of poetry
Beautiful write!!
Peace Love and hugessss...Morning Star
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D