Seems we had hit the mother lode when we “played favorites” last week. We had more responses than we had in quite a while and a return of many familiar voices. We thank you for contributing so greatly. (Benjamin Thomas rocked the yard!) We aren’t done with our other poet inspiration yet! This week, we’re taking the title of another poet’s poem, changing just one word to write a completely different poem. You can write in the style of the original piece, but you are welcome to make the poem your own, so that is not required. But please do give us a clue as to who had written the original poem.
MARIE’S REDUX:
PENNING
I sit down to write.
Ink flows fast, and I soon have
a poem-filled page.
I sit down to write.
Hours later, my page is blank.
Must be this old pen.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
Inspired by “Old Men,” by Daniel Paicopulos. (Changed from Old Men to old pen, but didn’t want to give the punch line a heads up in the title.)
WALT’S ONE WORD GLORY:
CONVICT US
Here, the light exposes me,
as black as the pit is my soul.
And no matter how odd it may be
I am an inconsolable Pole.
If I fell clutching my circumstance
or should yell “For crying out loud!”,
These blues are showing my last chance
my head is ruddy now and bowed.
There is no place for wrath filled tears
or for fears of shady horrors,
It seems my penance is quite clear,
my judge and jury feed my sorrows.
And so, I stand behind this gate,
charged with believing in truths untold.
Here, where convicted is my fate:
Things are out of my control.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021
**A reworking of “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
Walt, I don’t know whether I will be able to contribute this time, I was laughing so hard, my sides are split and I had an asthma attack.
Oh no. Hope you’ll be ok William.
Bill, you crack me up!
😂😂
Breathe, William! I know my poems take your breath away, but don’t take them to that extreme! Thank you!
KNEES IN A WINTER STORM
Her knees
felt the weight of regret;
yet they never let her forget—
promising to take the day by storm.
She tasted,
sweet savories of pain in every step;
bitterly wept, within the cutting breeze,
but kept the faith nigh.
She believed,
in weathering the storm with old fashioned grit. Her heart beat
the tempest, refusing to sit.
She plowed,
pulverizing mounds of fear, doubt, grief.
As a beast of burden—victory,
her only relief.
*Inspired by Trees in a Winter Storm by Leigh Hanes.
Benjamin Thomas
Well done, Benjamin! Your word choices and line breaks work so well for this piece. Clever stuff!
😁
Meh, the job never seems done in the poet’s mind! I’m sure you can relate. I’m learning that it’s not only about the end result, but also about the process and journey it brings us through. The meaning behind words.
Absolutely! And yes, I sure can relate.
Wow! That last stanza especially is so wonderfully tangible when read. This is very good, Benjamin.
Amen
I like this one very much. Her progression through the required actions brought her to the door of relief. Love where you took the title, Benjamin!
“Pulverizing mounds of fear, doubt, grief”….yes!
LETTUCE AWEIGH
Lettuce aweigh, Hermoine,
lettuce aweigh!
haul out your bucks and coin
and straightaway go pay-ay-ay-ay.
Then get some ham and cheese
fresh from the cow;
mix them with chickens’ knees
and toss the salad, toss the salad now!
Oh my word, speaking of laughing until your sides hurt! 😀
A poetic earworm? How wonderfully invasive! Your humor lights this place up big time, Bill!
So grateful for tg3 smiles you bring
I love the humor in this. You do it so well.
GHOST WRITERS IN THE SKY
Parody of “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” by Stan Jones (1948)
Their pens were black and sharpened and their eyes were moist and damp;
they wrote and wrote and wrote despite a rash of writer’s cramp;
their words came fast and furious and covered all the sky,
and as they wrote they chanted out a long and lusty cry:
Yip-eee I ay…. yip-eee I oh……
Ghost writers in the sky!
And then they paused together when they saw me coming near;
they said as one, “Come join the fun, we have no strangers here.”
I found myself a writing desk and joined them in the sky,
and now with Burns and Dickinson you’ll ever hear me cry:
Yip-eee I ay…. yip-eee I oh……
Ghost writers in the sky!
This made me smile. “Yip-eee I ay…. yip-eee I oh…… Ghost writers in the sky!” This almost reminded me of McClane in Die Hard. Glad to see you’re feeling better William.
Oh the brilliance! The creativity, humor, pace, rhymes, perfect rhythm … Yip-eee I ay!
I echo Marie’s comment, William, this is a joy to read!
Ha Ha! Absolutely a marvel here, William. Just don’t let Bruce Willis anywhere near that lyric! Samuel L. Jackson for that matter as well.
😂😂😂
Such joy, enthusiasm, pure fun
One of my favorite challenges is rewriting song lyrics. I sang all the way through this one. Fantastic job.
Marie, that’s the best contrast of writer’s cramp and writer’s block I’ve ever read.
Walt, what a line: clutching my circumstance– perfect!
William, a favorite western song of mine since way back…. evokes much of the same angst/hope. Well penned!
I found that to be a wonderfully peculiar turn of phrase. It seemed to work here!
HA! Well, thank you, sir!
Isn’t it though, Bill? She writes what we all feel from time to time!
MOURNING SONG
by Erin Kay
Mama, it’s been a minute since
you brought me into this world,
all red and wailing and wrapped up in your dreams,
since you held me to your heart.
I gave you a run for your money,
fussy baby and wild child, the troublemaker.
You used to say I was special, the life of the party,
I wonder when that eventually changed for you.
Was it when I told you I find my love and comfort
in the heart of another girl?
Did all those plans for my home and future and children
come crashing down around you? They needn’t have.
You gave up the role of mother for pride.
Sometimes I catch a glance of myself in the mirror and
have to do a double take. I have your features.
I don’t want this visage to be the one my children see.
Mama, you didn’t come see me get married.
Will you be there to hold my hand and scream with me
when the birthing song begins?
Your estrangement is all your grandchildren will know of you.
– inspired by Sylvia Plath’s “Morning Song”
Oh, I think Plath would be quite honored. I admire your restraint in phrasing and word choice. Especially like last stanza…
Thank you, Pat! That is indeed a compliment, I admire her work so much.
Changing Morning Song to Mourning Song is lovely and creative. Perfect title for your poem, Erin Kay. I hope you keep pouring your heart out, poetically, and that you find it therapeutic. May our heavenly Father, who sees and loves you, heal hearts and relationships. ❤
Thank you, Marie, I will absolutely continue to do so ❤
“Will you be there to hold my hand and scream with me when the birthing song begins?” – Love that line.
Benjamin, thank you for reading and for picking out that line! That and the last were the lines that I started with in my head, and everything else was essentially built around them.
Oh, how those lines inspire a poet!
Yes, that one spoke to me as well. Truly the stuff of poetry.
This has a very Plath-like feel. Wonderful.
Thank you! Her style always speaks so deeply to me.
I physically gulped in awe of this piece. Plath indeed would have wished she had written it. You are good, Erin. Very good!
Wow this is high praise, and from such a respected source! Thank you, Walt!
Perfect…in form, words and spirit
Thank you, Daniel, I very much appreciate your input!
Oh wow– tried to do the itals and this is where it ended up! I erred somehow??
Marie, help please!!
Walt is the expert, not me! (This is Marie, btw.) Here is how he taught me, but it still confuses me. Sometimes I can do it, and sometimes I mess it up.
Bold, italics, and quote commands from Walt:
To bold, italicize or isolate a quotation, remember that everything is encased in
to begin the function, and to end it.
Replace the * with the corresponding command below
without any spaces:
To bold a word or line, the command is the word strong.
To italicize, the command is the letters em.
For the quotation, the command is blockquote.
I’m going to try to bold right now. Wish me luck!
hopefully this is bold and this isn’t.
WOOHOO! IT WORKED! Give it a try, Pat. Hopefully it will work for you, too.
Marie
Ugh. And now I’m seeing that important part of the instructions gets hidden when I pasted it from word. Let me see if I can get it to show up properly by typing it in.
begin command with
end command with
Replace the * with whatever command you want:
“strong” for bold
“em” for italics
“blockquote” for a quotation
Don’t use any spaces between the elements of the command, and don’t use the quotation marks.
Now, I’m hoping against hope that the instructions actually show up completely. Fingers crossed!
Nope. The important part of the instructions just disappear. I don’t know what to do about it, Pat.
WAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLTTTTTTTTEEEEEEERRRRRRR, where aaaaaaarrrrrreeeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuuuu??? 😉
Pat, I’m going to try e-mailing you Walt’s instructions.
Oh– NOT forward slashes, but makes more sense. Decoding directions…. sorry.
Please delete all efforts. I’m still messing everything up. Though I had it!
Patients
(From “Patience” by Kay Ryan, 1999)
Sitting among friends
I have never met,
nor am likely to meet again,
resting in a reclining chair
I wish I had at home,
but not for it’s intended use.
Being seen to with loving care,
skillfully, smilingly, ably applied,
with the modesty experience brings,
in the fullness of dedication
from true earth angels.
A nestling needle,
like a diamond in its hardness,
plugged easily into a vein,
pushing curative chemicals
into the red rivers of my body.
It’s expensive, that chemistry,
prohibitive for some I would guess,
but not for me, grateful
for a younger life of work,
begetting a later life of insurance.
Who would have thought,
at a younger age,
a body could be made sustainable,
even as it carried disease,
(though not dis-ease)
cured by something otherwise
so dangerous,
allowing one to envision
a happy, healthy, lengthy life.
Wonderful, this, Daniel. Especially “though not dis-ease,” speaks a great deal.
Indeed.
Wonderful. Read it twice. Spoken like someone with experience.
Such quiet power
“Quiet power.” That describes not only the poem, but the poet. ❤
People ask me which poets excite and influence me. You and Bill certainly are at the top of the list. I am so glad we keep you among our numbers, Daniel. Your poetry is guided wisdom.
This conveys such peace and gratitude, and I enjoy the gentle rhythm of the lines.
Last attempt!
For(e)wa/ord is a Direction
Fore roars
with a Scottish brogue
warns of possibility
onset
advancing menace
a potential
whirring through air
something unstoppable
beyond a tiny faceted ball
in its alluring neon
when in reality
it’s all about
you
playing the game
of life
whether they post
to the leaderboard
or not
we see
how you storm castles
cross moats
rattle chains
bring down drawbridges
footsteps firing
arms pumping
spine straightening
nothing tentative
because you know
forward is
the only direction.
**adapted from
Backward is a Direction poetrybydebi Jan 17 PB
Glad you were able to post this one Pat. Love the allusion of golf and the meaning behind it.
Happy to see you were able to post! I love the way you string words together, Pat, it is inspiring every time.
Yes, indeed
Nice inspiration for another highly inspired poem, Pat. Love the direction of this!
Absolutely! I hope Debi sees this.
Yo7 had me at the title
On the Bench at Night
I sit as still as a human can –
waiting
The sun has set and dusk has settled –
silently
I try to match my breath to the gentle breeze–
softly
Small creatures emerge from daylight hiding places –
cautiously
and my heart sends out a quiet message –
for you
(I changed one word of Walt Whitman’s title, On the Beach at Night)
Love it Candance! How lovely is this poem. It has both a soft spirit and tone to it.
Thank you so much
I love the placement of the one word (or two at the end) after each line and how they form their own soft line. This is sweet and well written!
Thank you 😊
I think this is superb.
Thanks much
Very ingenious, Candace. A poem embedded within a poem. Amazing how one word can change so much! Excellent effort.
Thanks, Walt. Do you know if this is an established poetry form?
The closest I came to this form is the Memento (in our Inform Poet section). Similarly, the Lai and Line Messaging. You may have perfected a new form!
Waltmarie Poem –
10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately
if I change cautiously to gently then each short line has two syllables. I think I like that idea..
Grateful to have read this…how I feel when I listen to Spa radio
thanks 😊
Candy, you are one of peace-inducing poets. I “listen” to a soft voice, every time I read one of your poems. This one is no exception, and so lovely. Thank you!
❣️
Another wonderfully inspiring prompt, Walt and Marie. And it’s wonderful to see so many contributing and commenting. I apologize again for not commenting as much as I should. Retirement was supposed to provide plenty of free time. They faked me out on that one. lol
Satan Screams
(inspired by C. S. Lewis “Satan Speaks”)
I walk right beside you, all day and all night
I block your ability to see the Real Light
I make the world look like an inviting place
I feed all your wants and satisfy your tastes
You see me right here yet don’t recognize me
Because I’m whatever you want me to be
You think that I’m good because I please you
For your every desire I will come through
I’ll keep you shackled with worldly pleasures
Entice you with endless, worthless treasures
If you try to leave me I’ll ruin your life
And fill it with pain and misery and strife
Then offer enticements to bring you back in
Temptations and trifles of greed, lust and sin
I’ll be your best buddy and take care of you
Then snatch up your soul when your life is through
Just don’t be surprised the moment after you die
That I’m the first thing that you see by-and-by
That is a stunning take Earl. Many great lines, but these stood out: “I’ll keep you shackled with worldly pleasures Entice you with endless, worthless treasures” Splendid.
Wonderful rhyming
The makings of a fantastic Twilight Zone episode. It’s sad that we do not see the turmoil right before our eyes. Well done, Earl!
Excellent rhythm, word choices and phrasing, staying true to your ever-compelling self
Brilliant take, Earl!
I have to admit, though, that I had to get myself into a different frame of mind once I began reading the poem. I was too busy giggling over “they faked me out on that one.” 😀 I hear ya, friend!
HOMEMAKER
by Erin Kay
There was only one option as a little girl for me to grow into:
Wife, homemaker, child-bearer, unpaid cook and washerwoman
To be married off young, before these hips could cave
Under the weight of unwanted advancements,
Learn to accept the patriarchal narrative that told me
My femininity designated me to fit delicately into one box
These hips were made for bearing children, woman your lifeline is
This womb riddled with genetic trauma but still supposed to foster life
What will happen to me if I can’t? What good is my womanhood then?
These breasts were made to succor children, please a husband
Somewhere around age fifteen or sixteen the word “homemaker”
Became a poison gulped down daily, destined “bliss” with an acrid taste
Somewhere around age seventeen, my young queer heart all but stopped beating
Dreaming of a different kind of home-making that I could never find
Somewhere around age twenty-two, I learned a little bit about love
The kind that didn’t only want me for the ancient magic of my womb
They never told me as a girl that I could have that choice in womanhood
To bear or not, to be outspoken with my wants and needs, desires
To be loved for anything and everything, including and excluding femininity
Provided a whole new meaning for that poisoned role of “homemaker”
Peace with the fact that I could want a child, feel Gaia stirring in my womb
Fulfill that role as part and parcel with the rest..and it doesn’t have to be because they told me to
– Title adapted form “Home Wrecker” by Ocean Vuong
Such effective writing, this.
Truly. Effective is precisely the right word.
“… destined “bliss” with an acrid taste” Wow, Erin. So many phrases in your writing that go right to the heart, including this.
Bless your heart …
Thank you both! I never quite expect these positive reactions, and I am always pleasantly surprised ❤️
Thanks for always taking time to respond to my ramblings, Walt, I appreciate these words very much.
Poignant piece, Erin. You express wonderfully what your heart knows to be true. What you write is right. Do not deny it.
Hmm I somehow posted my response to your comment above this..
Erin, I so relate to that particular word /homemaker/– I too was supposed to come home from highschool (boarding) and “assume my role” college being out of the question for women!! Yep poison, and I chose not to drink it.//they never told me as a girl that I could have a choice// terrific line:-))
I was homeschooled and reared from a young age to be a good housewife. I essentially became the biggest disappointment when I decided to go to college (!) and also came out to my parents. And here I am now with some actual critical thinking skills and emotional health, about to finish my bachelor’s degree in psychology and apply to med school. Rejecting the poison was the first step. Thank you for reading and sharing from your experience, Pat!
Beautifully expressed, with just the right dollop of anger
Thank you! And that is the personality trait I seem to have in spades lol
This one was a doozy to write. Please read the original poem by
Edgar Allen Poe. I included the link below. It really made me think!
It made me think even more when trying to write it. I tried to match his
Form as much as possible.
TO THE SEA
Fair sea! In thy royal, azure chambers
Of defiance, nomadic glee,
Thou art depth of wisdom’s undertow
Pure flow—of all earth’s longings—
Hidden lair of sapphire secrets
Its profundity you would know;
When rolling wave’s urgent desire—
Unbidden sage will, beckons blue—
Why, magnificence of expanse’s brooks
Her admirer ponders hue;
For in my ardor, as in thy brimming,
Her reflection there resides—
The affections of distant migrant crew
Sails her billows, accepts errant tides.
Benjamin Thomas
*Inspired by – To The River by Edgar Allen Poe (published 1829)
https://poestories.com/read/totheriver
VERY impressive!
The result show you to be Benjamin Allen Poe. Well done!
Wow, wow, wow. I am glad you wrote this rather than myself…it will linger with you forever, I think
Oh, Benjamin! Benjamin! I read Poe’s first, then yours. I’d like to just echo what the others have said. As for myself, I’m just speechless.
A Piece of Pie
I wish I had a piece of pie,
lemon meringue, smooth and tangy,
or graham cracker-crusted key lime.
I wish I had a piece of pie.
Southern pecan would be sublime.
Warm peach A la mode could be dandy.
I wish I had a piece of pie,
lemon meringue, smooth and tangy.
(taken from “A Piece of Mind” by Benjamin Thomas)
I wish I had a piece of pie too! I completely forgot about that poem. Love the refrain, Sarah. 🙏
Thanks for the inspiration, Benjamin!
The inspiration is definitely mutual. That’s what I love about poetry.
Damn now i want pie..pecan is one of my favorites!
Now I’m picturing us all eating pie. 😂
Ooooooooooo, yes please!!!!!!!!! That would AWESOME! Someone have a huge front porch we can relax on with our pie?
🥧🥧🥧
I do make a mean pecan pie!
👌
Salivating here
Baking would work!
As long as we’re ordering pie, make mine cherry. A great enticement here, Sara!
Would you care for a lattice work top,
or a crumb top? Thanks, Walt!
I’m not picky, Sara. Lattice work seems like a lot of work, but still so delicious! 😉
That’s okay, I can lattice!
😉
😂
One triolet pie to go, please. Reminds me how I enjoy your work, be it west or east coast born
Thanks so much, Daniel!
Mouth-watering poem, this! Fits the form deliciously! You just made me smile!
Oh, good!
Death is Everything at Once
by Erin Kay
Winter brings with it the kind of death
That begins a violent transformation
I sat on a rock on a faraway jetty
Frozen salt spray in my hair and the wispy moon
Looking like a shy face in a whirlwind
Winter in the Pacific Northwest
Brings freezing rain and bitter chills
That halt you in your tracks and
Make you wonder if death is the whole point
The ocean turbulently terribly cries
With the voices of thousands under the waves
The evergreen trees shiver magnificently
As if in throes of ecstasy
While the world around them turns gray and cold
A dying land full of stately green pillars
The sun magnificent blinding sudden
On a morning in March bursts through clouds
And death’s handiwork is laid bare
Brilliant purple crocuses springing from graves
Of last year’s forgotten soil
Shrieking baby gulls on that faraway jetty
Where the waves crashed mercilessly
The palest pink on the cherry trees out my window
A soft and peaceful breathing creature at my side
Sunflower yellow in her eyes and rosy red on her cheeks
– Title very loosely taken from “Death is Nothing at All” by Henry Scott Holland
You have a marvelous poetic voice, Erin. 👏
Thank you, and also right back at you!
That seems to be the consensus, Erin!
Shucks y’all this is not good for my ego lol
Wow. What a cornucopia of color.
Color is the most important thing to me about scenes, aesthetics, etc., it bleeds into everything I think and write. Thank you for this comment
*sigh* Oh, the beauty you pen… the stark contrast between halves … Wow …
This is amazing– line after breathtaking line– I’m there on the rock, spray frozen in my hair, the voices beneath the waves crying above…. Beautiful beyond words.
Pat, wow, thank you! I am always awestruck that poets like yourself find something relatable/beautiful in my weird little ramblings
Thank you, Marie :’)❤️
Poetic Language*
A friend and I tell each other we don’t believe in endings
after she comes out of the restaurant kitchen to talk.
She says she and her daughter are painting my poem
torn out of the last page of my book.
She says that the poem glows like a moon
when alone, light coming through a window.
I tell her that my car was stuck in the snow
and had to be towed out of a rut.
She asks why my new tires cost so much,
and I know she means to say, I care.
When we talk about how others and I walk there,
and other journeys taken,
I know we’re talking about closeness shared.
When we talk about a misunderstanding and forgiveness,
we’re finding a new language to share.
*based on Body Language by Dora Malech
This is beautiful, and I love the imagery of the poem glowing like a moon!
Bingo
A shared language is communication of the highest order, Mike. I love the visual this provides.
“She asks why my new tires cost so much,
and I know she means to say, I care.”
This.
This…
finding a new language to share, indeed …
Very nice poem, Erin Kay.
Thanks, Mike!
I love the sentiment in this.
The box under my poem above shows what we’ve been trying to explain with the HTML code for italics and bold lettering. Replace the word “italics” with what you want italicized. Do the same if you wish to embolden your script.
THANK YOU! ❤
*Inspired by THE RAVEN BY Edgar Allen Poe.
I highly recommend you read his original poem!
It’s a masterpiece! Link included below.
THE OWL
There he was
perching, quite dapperly,
haughtily, upon his evening bough;
event of night drawing nigh—
as I, to him—seeking counsel
more to know.
There he turned
round about, his head, chaffingly,
laughingly, while stifling a cough;
Whirled his mayan sicar against the sky—
as to why, here am I—
Perhaps, go question the crow.
Benjamin Thomas
The Raven: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven
One of my favorites from Poe, and you’ve really captured the essence and turned it around. I love this
Also adding the link for the muse is such a good idea, I’m going to have to remember it for similar prompts in the future
👍
Smiling here.
😁
Inspired by Tree and Sky
by William Carlos Williams
SEA AND SKY
SKY
Be still
O’ roiling, febrile waters
for who can contain thy disdain?
Must you ever toss, tumble, toil about—
on par with Hades, contending for the slain?
Be still
O’ behemoth, cerulean blue,
cease thy writhing, wrestling, ways;
I bid you—Take heed to cold stone-silence,
amidst breaking dawn, her timely ray.
SEA
O’ Sky
how lofty, grand, transcendent,
Is thy pride—silver, spaciously grey,
through thee the filthiest of fowl do fly—
arrogant, pompous winds their way.
0’ Sky
dark expansion, sullen moodiness,
shall you ever reign over me?
languid Queen of crystal-deception—
humbled men on earth, below must see.
Benjamin Thomas
Link to Tree and Sky: https://www.poetrynook.com/poem/tree-and-sky-0
Both “The Owl” and “Sea and Sky” are captivating, Benjamin. We seem to be having a “Poetic Awakening” around the garden! You’ve been offering some outstanding work!
Amen to that
It was fun to write, thx.
Your ability to write furiously, while managing to maintain poetic voice and impressive skill leaves me awestruck, Benjamin. Reminds me of my poetic partner, Walt.
I’ve had a lot of pent up emotions from trauma, life stuff, so poetry is a great outlet for me. Thx.
*Inspired by Sometimes I Cry by DJ.
SOMETIMES I WITHER
Sometimes the heart
Is blackened crust,
susceptible— to crumbling;
Its jagged edges,
at odds, with cohesion—
sometimes I wither.
Sometimes the heart
is scarred, blemished,
jarred—beyond recognition;
No longer resembling—
the original—
sometimes I wither.
Sometimes the heart
Is congested, fully—
failing to thrive;
Incapable,
of rendering its basic duty—
sometimes I wither.
Sometimes the heart
Is bitter cold, arctic,
bailing out its sludge;
Dark, iniquitous,
cathartic—
sometimes I wither.
Sometimes.
Benjamin Thomas
(Sometimes I Cry: https://poets.org/poem/sometimes-i-cry)
Such a “mood” this carries, Benjamin. Another excellent poem!
love both the repetition and contrasts – so sharp, incisive.
Thanks, Pat.
Yup. Definitely a moody poem.
The staccato lines punch this up wonderfully, in my opinion.
👍
Stand at My Grave and Weep
Although I must be dead and gone
My spirit now is moving on
With wonders all about me here
But you can grieve for me my dear
If was the other way around
Me standing here, you glory bound
I would allow myself to cry
And even ask my Father why
Remember good times that we’ve had
It is okay to feel so sad
The life on earth sure has its pain
But there is sunshine after rain
So stand there at my grave and weep
It’s what you do when love grows deep
Based on title “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabet Frye
Love it
Love it two!
Oh my. Connie, this is tender and endearing. Gentle rhymes and perfect cadence. Beautifully done.
Good one Connie. The last four lines are my favorite.
Delightful!
Thanks for the laugh and giggle, Linda! Happy to see your contribution this morning! Well done!
It’s so good to see you here, Linda! This piece is right up my alley!! So much fun!!
Inspired by:
The Art of Being
by Anne Coray
THE ART OF HEART
I write,
to write away the pain;
as if it would drain—
suddenly, from my pen.
I write,
summoning the deepest wounds,
channel the affliction,
Siphon it— through my pen.
I write,
from the canvas of the heart,
fashioning life—into abstract art,
then do it all over again…
And again.
Benjamin Thomas
Link to poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55240/the-art-of-being
I echo the delightful humor in this.