Words, Words, Words, why do we write? Is it just A need to communicate, or are we trying to share our love of emotions and feelings for the world around us. I think poetry is our attempt to convince others that we feel, think, hurt, laugh, love. To open a door with words and share our journey of self discovery.
Purpose When all is not, and I feel forgot, I write when day is done, the night has come, I write it eases me as nothing can just mere thought controls my hand .....and I write. There's no glorious purpose the words I find nor great works from whence my mind but still I write. neababyblu~
The Path Ghosts of my ancestors I believe keep me safe their job never done, never sleep, never waste our views, our beliefs our traditions so set the day we were born, can't break away.......yet, we try. The exuberance of youth keeps us seeking the truth many others have walked this land 'fore our birth to follow others footsteps just in trust and goodfaith makes having some brains a bit of a waste........ and yet. Your loyalties tell you my people don't lie they consider my heart, my home, so never ask why tis a quandry for you because deep in your soul they taught you success comes from having a goal...... you try. To remember the reasons you cling to your views in face of the obstacles and the life you abuse One foot placed in front so the other must follow steps that most surely guide you into tomorrow.
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Evacuation Trail It is a night of change, of challenging things so swift, so smooth, creeping in through a groove, around the corner, past the gate, on and on could not wait, nor hestitate, wilst not be late. On steady, upward upward, climbing still tis the wind wafting ore an aroma more, or no, like a fog swift and chill, seeping still the cold, the cold, the bitter cold. A finger pointing crooked and bent a shadow sent across the ground moving swift, as night comes on, then once more gone, the air is still. The sound was shrill from whence it came, back again, now calm once more, even score, and all that bent and trashed about, has leveled out, softly shut the door.
How's the Weather? I guess it could have been sunny, but it decided to rain keeps the grass growing greener out on the plain and the puddles are welcome to that family of ducks but my lawn mower gets rusty so I just put it up.. The kids don't mind staying in for another day they read books and try their best to stay out of my way my work is my best when the skies turn dark and forlorn but I get so emotional when the sky is tattered and torn. The Magnolia has one blossom, wonder what happened to the rest my mind dwells on things others would just take in jest got to bring my thoughts back to my world day to day can't keep the kids off in the distance forever at bay. Yes, the sky is definitely thinking ominous thoughts on this day the windchimes have long since tinkled merrily in play what's brewing out there now makes the clothes dance on the line time to batten the hatches and shut down the computer one more time.
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Life I floated by on wings of time till nothing left that once was mine. I closed my heart, I shut my eyes I missed out on life, was no surprise. You can't go back through a one way door, can't reclaim youth, nor shave the score. Your dress rehearsal, your curtain call just one chance, one maiden ball. Whispered voices close by my ear, saving grace we all go here. Remember, just one grab at life's brass ring one wide eyed look at everything. Life be so precious, for all we got the memory of what we have not? Blessings come both great and small life's simple pleasures that we have all.
My Grandmother read alot of poetry to me when I was young. And what she didn't read, she quoted from memory. For as long as I can remember if it were put to rhyme, I loved it. She has inspired my love of poetry, my love of flowers, and a love for nature in general. Grandma passed on more than 20 years ago, but I still write a lot of poetry with her in mind....... The beauty of the evening sky just before sunset. There is nothing to compare. As I was driving down the road on my way home from Baton Rouge, I had to stop the car and take a picture. This is a common sight here, but I never get tired of looking at it. I will stop what I am doing and go out on the back porch when I am at home, take my cup of coffee with me, and settle back to watch the sunset. There is no greater peace to be found anywhere. Sunset on the Bayou Crimson splashed across skies purple cloak of night. Sun put to slumber wrapped in eves quilted softness. Capture the moment so fleeting, you blink just one sweep of soft lashes, eyes open the curtain of fire turns to cool embers floating on seas, azure, the color of silence, resting, the end of this, another day.
Forest's Live Stage I sit in a daydream, the wind gently talking to the trees. Their answer, a shudder, of limbs all a flutter, they bend, they sway, as if to say, hurry, hurry, out of my way. Enthralled, I hear nature's conversation, Each has their own part. Birds must be heard, a chirping word, a song, a trill, always gives me a thrill, hurry, hurry a sound so shrill. And so I raptly stare at another grand display, this forest's living art. Enchanting and so alive, bees leave their royal hive, the toad, a fox, bugs underneath those rocks, hurry, hurry, all actors in nature's cinema box.
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