It's funny where inspiration falls from... Most poets just sporadically experience a descending rush of inspiration, while others have lives so full of different experiences and characters that they have ideas upon ideas to write about. For me, I think I'm a little of both.
What I love most about Poetry is that specific aspect of it. It can be dedicated to anyone, and based upon anything at all in the world. It's basically a simplistic way to deliver a broad variety of thoughts, emotions, themes and stories through a rhythem of words. It's amazing!
This one is dedicated to my four siblings. Caroline, Michael jnr., Mark and Clarice, the people who are pervasively inspiring me yet only sometimes can I find the words to explain just how they make me feel.
A star all golden,
A way in pride,
Full of joy,
Us, outside.
The running giggles,
And tummy tickles.
Chasing Princess,
Around our yard!
The talkative moments,
From smiley components.
The music surrounding,
Beyond the blue sky.
Our daylight laughter,
Screaming disaster.
Tumbling roughly on
The green grass.
Football burst,
And doggy passing.
The clean clothes dirty,
From dropping lassies..
The clouds at warning.
..and mother calling.
The camera shot
A memory..
What I love most about Poetry is that specific aspect of it. It can be dedicated to anyone, and based upon anything at all in the world. It's basically a simplistic way to deliver a broad variety of thoughts, emotions, themes and stories through a rhythem of words. It's amazing!
This one is dedicated to my four siblings. Caroline, Michael jnr., Mark and Clarice, the people who are pervasively inspiring me yet only sometimes can I find the words to explain just how they make me feel.
Our Star
A way in pride,
Full of joy,
Us, outside.
The running giggles,
And tummy tickles.
Chasing Princess,
Around our yard!
The talkative moments,
From smiley components.
The music surrounding,
Beyond the blue sky.
Our daylight laughter,
Screaming disaster.
Tumbling roughly on
The green grass.
Football burst,
And doggy passing.
The clean clothes dirty,
From dropping lassies..
The clouds at warning.
..and mother calling.
The camera shot
A memory..
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