Poems are carrots in front of the nose,
meant to stir the desire to go
by horses so attune to the reins
they have forgotten how to trot
down the lane
on their own.
Poems are a kick in the rump
meant to raise to action
those sitting on the fence
prone to inaction
when what they need
is a sense of dissatisfaction.
Poems are mere words
until they are not
to those who feel their power
and find themselves caught
in new ways of seeing
and thinking
and feeling.
Filed under POETRY
Meaning hides behind the curtain of words
strung on steel spines laid across windows
open to the view of curiosity seekers
walking the borders of meadows
where secrets are held in shallow graves.
I watch their progress across the land
mined with traps of grammar and rhyme,
their trampling feet raising dust to obscure
whatever truths they might find
should their path be more certain, more sure.
Discoveries are few and far between.
They wander and look everywhere but
where the treasures lie sight unseen.
Makes me wonder why poets write,
what they expect others to glean
from meaning hidden in plain site.
Filed under POETRY
What brings the night to bear
such weighted worry and care
that sleep eludes the grip
of dreams yearning to appear
and yawning gasps for air ?
Breath settles too deep
in lungs already fast asleep
while brain sizzles and burns
in a body which tosses and turns.
And thus, I leave my bed to write
of nothing even close to delight,
knowing I shall face down dawn
weary, drooped and drawn.
The words continue awake and long
for a place I can feel strong.
Filed under POETRY
I don’t understand poems,
or words, or chatter.
How do they form like loose clay
around the mold of earthly matter?
Words cast up their account
of what lies in the gut
and rise to the mouth
to utter and strut.
Do we have no power
over what we say ?
Are we merely overpowered
by a shower of words at play?
Somedays, words are so strong
they insist and persist, bursting the cork.
Other days, words are so weak
pulling them out is too much work.
The worst thing is not silence.
The worst thing is a paragraph
dragged out with violence.
Today, all words can do is laugh.
Filed under Uncategorized
annarino writes 