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Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

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Second Proof of Walk with Words Arrives Tomorrow! Plus, Two New Verses!

  • joybragi84
  • 4 days ago
  • 2 min read

Cartoon Crow Tugging at a Flower: Created by Google Gemini, edited by me.
Cartoon Crow Tugging at a Flower: Created by Google Gemini, edited by me.

According to the UPS tracking app, the second proof of Walk with Words should arrive tomorrow. Hopefully, last week's edits and revisions have the book ready for global publication. Be on the look-out for it soon at Lulu, Amazon, and others.


I was going to share a picture of the cover with you, but it appears that I don't have one. Hmm...


Well, how about if I just share a couple of poems with you? I'll share them as I wrote them in chronological order, but, as you can see, the first one sort of plays off the second one. You will see what I mean. As always, ENJOY!


No Verse About Flowers

 

I’ve written no verses for flowers.

You might say I’ve not been inspired.

In truth, I have no superpowers,

And I get just a little bit tired.

 

I love the reds of the azalea.

I savor the scent of the rose.

I sit midst my paraphernalia,

And I think but I rarely compose.

 

The Starfire paints on bare breezes,

The hyacinth fumes in its bed.

The spiderwort tickles and teases,

But I can’t draw them out of my head.

 

I’m charmed by the pink of the sweet pea.

I am stunned by the irises’ flair.

I have much motivation within me.

When I sit down to write, it’s not there.

 

I’ve written no verses for flowers.

It seems that I can’t find the words.

I’ve used up my poetical powers

Writing gobbledygook about birds.


A Different Crow Today

 

I saw a different crow today.

No, it was not a brother.

It cawed then quickly flew away.

I don’t know why I bother.

 

Each time I see a strange new crow,

I think about the others

And all the things I used to know

About the three crow brothers.

 

They liked to sit on a pile of poles

Stacked laxly on the ground.

They’d eye me on my daily strolls

Until they weren’t around.

 

Sometimes, they’d fly from tree to tree

And cuss me like a dog.

Sometimes, they’d gather in the street

And eat a flattened frog.

 

I saw a different crow today.

It is no friend. Oh, well!

By now, it’s many miles away,

And it can go on to hell.


If the second proof of Walk with Words is a go, I am going to need a new project very soon. If you have any ideas what you might like to see me do next, please offer a suggestion. My business email is mbt1966@yahoo.com. I check that email every day. Let me know what you would like to read that I might create next. Please remember to keep the request within the wheelhouse of my talents, creativity, and inspiration.


Later.

Comments

I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

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