Here is some of my madness. A mixture of old and new work, that was hidden away and I swore that no one would ever see it. But I need to break that promise.

Poem 1

Identity is slippery,

Or it can be set like concrete.

We get to pick choose

what we put on or lose.

We filter

the truth of who we are

and accept the diluted version of others.

It is a strange relationship,

a dancing act,

a hall of mirrors.

When all you are really left with,

is me.

 

A little love poem.

Walk a little way with me,

just to the top of the mountain to meet the sky.

Together we will spread our wings

and begin to fly.

 

The horizon our only

boundary,

The sea and land

our playground.

 

But without you,

I would have no reason

to want to jump

from a mountain top.

 

A poem about Poetry.

I cannot grip onto the words I want to say.

They escape each time

I put my pen to the blank page.

 

My voice is lost in the sea of those before me

and I cannot raise my head,

above the

crashing,

waves,

long,

enough,

to speak.

 

But what would I say if I had the chance?

My words are simple

they will not transform and dance

My only solace is that

at least, these words are mine.

 

If poetry then,

Can bring life even to statues,

with words that touch the soul.

Why do the words I write

seem stale and cold?

I use the same language as our poetic greats

but with fresh understanding.

And yet, I still cannot emulate

their power for manipulating

the emotions and  words we use every day.

 

I cannot explain

my confusion

my rage

my bitter defeat

that I do not understand poetry

the way it’s meant to be.

 

I blindly stumble

and curse my pen

over the mysteries

of poetry

 

 

Going Home

 

Weary,

the only place to go

is home.

Open arms and

Love, wait for me there.

No more detours.

I am going home