Showing posts with label poet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poet. Show all posts

Thursday, April 23, 2020

Poetry Speaks

Poetry speaks
to both mind and soul,
to both reader and poet.

Poetry speaks
in the language of emotions,
whispering to the passions
of both our souls and our minds;
of both the poet and the reader.

What does it say to your mind?
What does it say to your soul?

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Monday, April 13, 2020

A Poet's Prayer of Gratitude

O Thou All-Glorious Lord,
Thank You
for my intuition,
which helps me
to write odes to Your Glory.

O Beloved of my soul,
Thank You
for helping me
to create rhythms and rhymes,
stanzas and lines,
and metaphors and similes.
which compliment
a poem's subject and theme.

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Saturday, January 04, 2020

Red Shift

In this darkness
these words are photons
emanating from the poet's mind
reflecting off the reader's perceptions
and into the prism of their experience:
What does the poem tell the reader about the poet?

Wherever the reader is in space-time,
connotations lengthen a poem's wavelength
away from the poet:
What does the poem mean to the reader?

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Saturday, November 30, 2019

Poet's Time

I'm on poet's time,
I spend the midnight hours
in silent meditation.

I'm on poet's time!
I lay awake listening
for the approach of inspiration.

I'm on poet's time,
sleep is a distant memory
until my muse has returns
with stanza and line.

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Friday, August 16, 2019

Poet's Intuition

Sometimes,
a poet has to follow her intuition
in writing an ode.

Is a poet's intuition
her muse?

I can't answer that question,
because there a times
when I call it my muse
and other times I call it
intuition.

I also placed this in the journal, Writing in Snow, located under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com


Friday, June 28, 2019

Beacons

Stars twinkle,
glittering diamonds
in a black velvet sky.

Planet burn holes
in the ebony blanket of night.

planes fly
across the firmament,
their precious gem lights
beacons guiding the mind
to a conclusion.

Each item
has a specific attribute
identifying it to the observer.

Each is a beacon
to the poet's muse.

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, located in the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com


Wednesday, November 07, 2018

Poets' Riddle

We are the sight of humanity,
And guides to the essence of reality.

We are the conscience of civilization,
Beacons indicating the next stage of evolution.

We are the scribes of history,
Journalist Transliterating chronology.

I, also, posted this in the journal Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com port. I am Prosperous Snow.

Wednesday, October 03, 2018

Poet's Meditation

Deep
in material tranquility
yesterday reposes.

Yesterday
whispers its diurnal wisdom
in the reverberation of rhythm.

Deep
in spiritual tranquility
tomorrow reposes.

Tomorrow
whispers its eternal wisdom
in the reverberation of rhyme.
 
This is also posted in my writing.com port in the journal Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items.
 
 

Tuesday, October 02, 2018

The Poet's Job

When Divine Revelation occurs
and God's Manifestation appears
the poet detects the change in the wind
and inscribes it in the annals of history.
 
Posted in Writing in Snow, under Awardicon Items, in my writing.com port.

Tuesday, June 05, 2018

The Poet

The poet proclaims
mirroring to humanity
the present reality.

The poet foretells
revealing to humankind
a glorious vision of the future.
 
This poem is also posted in Writing in Snow, which is located in my writing.com port under Awardicon Items. On writing.com I am Prosperous Snow.
 
 

Thursday, May 24, 2018

A Poet Is

A poet is a woman
who sits in tears
as she tears
life's pages from time's coloring book.

A poet is a man
who kneels to pray
for strength to pursue his prey
of words across the mind's ripply brook.

Friday, May 11, 2018

The Poet Speaks

In the twilight years of poetry
when the word lovers weep
for lack of rhymes,
when street gestures
and catacomb profanity
hide unexpressed
in the dictionaries
of dead civilizations,
when impoverished odes are painted
on enslaved eyeballs,
the poet speaks.

The poet speaks
vomiting stanzas across
the pristine streets of ignorance,
spreading the bacteria of knowledge
through unthinking populations,
and teaching the unaware
how to ask questions.

I poem is posted in Writing in Snow in my writing.com port under the folder Awardicon Item. I am Prosperous Snow.