Your words are music
to the ears of all,
your unique perspective
a joy oft forgotten.
sing any song you like
so long as it is not your own
Tag: writing
Puzzling
Can’t quite call it puzzling
if I already know the answer.
Still, the how keeps me up some nights
and the why perplexes me.
It all falls into place
as I watch bewildered.
It all connects
as I wildly wonder
about the chaos.
I can’t piece the peace together
or place the picture properly.
Can’t quite call it puzzling
when the finished work
is there.
But could it be complete?
Like a corner piece
with four connecting sections–
joy amid the turmoil.
A Rhyme Is Seldom New
What went right was what went wrong,
saw notes but never heard the song
and it was playing all along–
your timeless love, no rhyme
NaNoWriMo Blues
I don’t want to write today
I haven’t got a thing to say;
won’t you help me find the words?
All that I’ve wrote is for the birds
and they use it for their homes
just not as decorative tomes
Hesitation
These cell phones and computers
will age and fade
into obscurity–
funny how they were never the problem
some have made them out to be.
It’s these hands, operated by
a nervous nervous system,
that hesitate.
That’s where the problem lies.
What I want to say
and how it comes across
are often misunderstood,
taken the wrong way.
I hesitate to fully write
what I mean,
unfortunately content to let vague
platitudes plague others.
I hesitate to hit buttons that say
POST, PUBLISH, COMMENT, SEND
as if they were the red button.
Even reading this now
causes me hesitation
because it will never feel right to me
to write poems with computer terms.
I wonder if they felt that way
when painting caves and rocks,
scratching ink on papyrus
or moving the typeface of the printing press?
They didn’t write a stream of consciousness
like this when they did;
they couldn’t afford to waste
the paint and ink.
Am I wasting it now? It sure feels that way.
Perhaps they hesitated talking
to others, though.
Funny how universal that is.
Funny how there are numerous ways
to hesitate saying
what you want to say,
what you need to say.
It’s funny to me
how I’m nervously laughing
as my thumb hits these small keys
in this rambling mess.
I hesitate to find words
to finish it–
who knows if they’ll be the only words
someone reads from me
that paints an out-of-context picture?
Who knows if the urge to write
should leave
and make them my last?
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Last time I wrote a stream of consciousness like this, it was misconstrued. Thankfully it wasn’t misconstrued too bad but I still find myself hesitating to post stuff. In all fairness, that has always been ingrained in my mind. I think I’ll keep writing until I perfect how to craft words and sentences. In other words, I’ll keep practicing until I shuffle off this mortal coil 🙂
Ode to the Poets
It must be hard to be a poet
to lay souls bare that you may show it
to a world that may not care
or attempt to meet you there
at words you choose, crafted to fit
your stories that will never quit
Looking at the Clouds of Rain
The clouds on the horizon look
like snow capped mountains,
something I haven’t seen
in a decade or so.
Their shape is implanted
in my brain.
These clouds are real
but they are not mountains.
The mountains seldom change.
Right? Right?
Perhaps I’ll see them again
one day
if the clouds don’t drown me first–
I know they’re still there.
Filling in the Blanks
You will never work
a day in your life
if you enjoy what you do
and I find I don’t work too much
these days;
instead, through highs and lows,
it gets better
and this little hobby
fills in some
missing blanks
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This little notification showed up earlier today. I don’t keep track but it also hasn’t felt like four years.
So thank you all for being you and thank you for putting up with me 😃 Can’t wait to keep reading your wonderful works.
God bless!
Cory
The Ailment and the Remedy
I always thought that it would be easy
to run out of words
to convey a single theme,
a single idea,
a single person from
the endless crowds.
I thought it would be easy
and I thought that I’d forget you.
I thought a lot
but it was nothing at all
while the subjects spoke freely
without my help.
I thought it would be easy to stop
yet I can’t seem to separate
the pen from the paper
even when–or even especially when–
I want to.
Good or bad, come what may . . .
I write
Where They’ve Been
I knew that I loved you–
no question of when . . .
like when you were dancing
with words through your pen,
when the paper lit up
like flames with no fire,
when the smokeless smoke rose
yet even higher,
when the clouds formed above
through smoke and through haze,
when the words came back down
completely unfazed,
when I saw them dancing
back home once again,
and you looked happy
when beaming your grin . . .
I knew that I loved you–
no question of when–
even though they’re just words
you know where they’ve been
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I’m posting this here because both were inspired by the same song. I usually write specific inspirations in the tags but if I’ll give non-existent points fo you if you can guess it.
Hint 1: it’s an older song.
Hint 2: it destroyed a few pianos on the Looney Tunes 😄
The Unnecessary Blog 