inspiration: part 2...or, the lack there of - 8/19/07

a lack of inspiration
has stripped me of my soul
giving in to no desires
fighting to speak no more words

don't tell me that it's ok
don't say you love me anyway
I know you hurt as much as me
for you, too, live in poetry

your words once flew
on wings of eternal sunshine
your mind was once
the place that you called home
now we run from ourselves
in search of a stranger destination
than we've ever been before
in search of some magic conversation
that would give rise to the inspiration
to set our souls free from this prison
and live poetry once more

Emily Dickinson - (sometime in early 2007)

Is it too lofty a goal
to strive to be Emily Dickinson –
to be misunderstood,
misquoted for years to come –
to be studied by college students,
hated by high school students –
to be loved, adored by millions,
but truly known by none –
to put meaning into every letter,
every word and ever phrase
to be spread across the country
after life’s parting breath –
to watch the children play
from a second-story window
on Main Street, Amherst, Mass. –
to never marry, once to love
twice or perhaps thrice –
to twist letters into words
instead of threads into clothes –
to write of things I’ve never seen –
to see things no one else can –
to know what no one else dares?
strong, intelligent, witty,
quiet, homely, beautiful
Emily Dickinson

Why I Write - 6/10/07

not enough passion
not enough skill
not enough hunger
to give you that thrill
the thrill of the poem
that reaches your soul
the empty conclusion
that makes you feel whole
I don’t have the talent
I can’t make you feel
my poems have purpose
or that they are real
I don’t have the answers
don’t ask questions right
rhymes aren’t always perfect
but still, I sure try
I write for myself
and I write for you
I write cause I have to
and I love to write, too

your words - 6/9/07

your words
breathe life onto the page
you speak
more beauty with your pen
than God
spoke in all of creation
give thanks
for the Lord is good
and gave
you the words to speak
and gave
you a pen to speak them with
your thoughts
are a masterpiece waiting to
be written
let it be written

I want to write you a poem - 6/3/07

I want to write you a poem
tell you how much that I hurt
make a list of all my sorrows
say our love was just a curse

I want to write you a poem
full of all the love I know
give you everything I hold inside
but the pain I would not show

I want to write you a poem
let you know just what you’ve done
leave you empty, knowing nothing
but the void I have become

I want to write you a poem
with all the love I could express
tell you all the secrets of my heart
all but my loneliness

I want to write you a poem
a thousand, if need be
but I just can’t decide
what’s in store for you and me

x stain x - 4/22/07

sitting in the sun

blinding paper – white

– empty –

– blank –

– confused –

clean but somehow stained

– ink or blood –

it’s all the same

x x x

briars rip the flesh

as the pen creates the rose

a scream from just below

– creation’s heart –

– creator’s whim –

– emotion’s silly games –

tears erase the pain

but they always leave a stain

I scribble furiously - 1/28/07

I scribble furiously
most oft’ against my will
using words like “’tis” and “thee”
words no others use today
amid perfect rhymes
are less-than-3s
a reference most don’t get
at first, but then they do
and wonder how
“lol” fits in my verse
how subject fits the language
though they never are the same
how “less than 3” is equal to
expressions of true love
I write with pen – I type –
I say my words aloud –
I do whate’er will give release
no matter if logic
makes no sense

Inspiration - 10/3/06

Searching for inspiration
I look into your eyes
I hear the words you never said
I feel the pain you ne’er expressed
I see our love shine in your eyes
I know the words I need to write

The Empty Book - 2004

The tear-stained pages
Of my empty book
Cry out with the reddest ink
They breathe new life
To the simplest things
As birds and bees
Lighting and trees

As the sky lights up
With the morning dew
I close the book
Whose empty pages
Never shall be seen