Posted: September 6, 2013 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

Where do our poems come from? What organizes our thoughts into words? How does it all work? I don’t know but sometimes I suspect there is something else working here.


Beyond the shade of evening light
and far from the brilliance of stars
there is a place where thoughts are born
and where they go when dimmed.

It is a place where no man can go
not flesh nor soul or ghost
It is where all dreams are made
and where poems reign as king

Poems within transparent books
Of words from thoughts unseen
When opened the words pierce the poet’s skull
and forms the verse he sees

Books only opened up by love
or peace or hate and jealousy
Pages turned by an emotional muse
Who throws them out at lightning speed

Thoughts caught by hollow porous bone
squarely behind wide green tinted eyes
Thoughts caught by a searching willing soul
Who believes his careful words are all his own



  1. Anonymous says:

    I have this cartoon in my mind of all creative ideas/energy flowing like an invisible river all around us, and all you have to do is reach out and fill your cup – it is all right there for the taking, first come, first serve…



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