My pen writes in English
My pen writes in French
Mon stylo écrit en français
My pen writes in Spanish
Mi pluma escribe en español
My pen writes in Italian
La mia penna scrive in italiano
My pen writes in Portuguese
Minha caneta escreve em portugues
My pen writes in Creole
......
I live in a world of fantasy
Not caring to immerse myself
Into the fountain of reality
The waters of actuality offer no joy
To a soul that has retreated to another plane
It is true I am reclusive
At times irritating and demanding
Extremely reclusive
I confess I am unconventional
......
sitting here staring at that blinkin' cursor
having nothing other than that buzzing
familiar as the chirping of Spring
anticipating the rusting of Fall
Super moon has come and gone
time to unstiffen carpal joints
click, clack; clickity, clack
My Excuse
I scroll on to the next post on Instagram, the ten hundredth time that day,
I don't know what I'm looking for but I'm sure this isn’t the way
To find it.
I’m itching to get up, to run, to lie in a bed of wilting, overwatered green grass.
But I sit in my bed still, scrolling through Instagram.
I know I should do homework, I should get it done so that
I can write.
But homework won’t give me what I’m looking for.
......
Staring through a blank page.
Words jumbled in my brain,
Anxiously waiting to be put together.
Placed in such an order of meaning,
A purpose for simple vocabulary.
My head is blank until I put pen to paper.
Thoughts flood me like a stormy stream.
The first line is the most difficult,
The remainder comes naturally
......
Staring through a blank page.
Words jumbled in my brain,
Anxiously waiting to be put together.
Placed in such an order of meaning,
A purpose for simple vocabulary.
My head is blank until I put pen to paper.
Thoughts flood me like a stormy stream.
The first line is the most difficult,
The remainder comes naturally
......
A million ways to spend a day
not tried them all but have to say,
that if I had the way to when
I’d quiet find and open then
the pages of the poet’s hand.
Then fly away to distant land,
or feel the fire of deep desire,
......
There is a verse I forgot to write.
It lingers in my mind.
Like a song unsung or bell unrung it waits—
Waits for my pen to give it life.
The topic that chose me today was African Elephants.
Unbidden,
they came
from depths unknown —
I did not plan to ponder Elephants,
and I certainly didn’t intend to write about them.
Yet here they are,
grand, gray, glorious,
trumpeting
......
As I sit on my desk,
white paper and black pen in hand,
I hear the raven crow.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
I begin bleeding onto the page,
black ink adorning the white page,
my emotions finding a home
in a once blank page.
......