I saw "Yellow" and thought, who stole my old username?
sigh
So. the "con" of being a poet is TRUST? Care to elucidate? I understand the dreamy reincarnation, and I've got my interpretation of the con, but...
hmmmm
The poetry con " Trust"
I just meant to say that I have trouble sharing my poetry with those people in my day to day daily life, family, friends I try to have meaningful conversation as to also share some poems I have written... Honestly they aren't interested, so whatever... I don't trust them as much anymore. SAD
I love them all, but fuck them, I love my poetry so much.. more!
I keep poetry life seperate from family life...
oh... I know what you mean. But, there are alot of people who just don't get poetry. And, if it doesn't mean anything to them, well then forget it... no tug boat or train can pull their interest.
we are to be ourselves each and every one of us.
embrace your own creative channels, invent/invert more.
find yourself endlessly searching, looking for something to fill a feeling,
not necessarily thoughts but more felt visuals transcending closing eyes.
and the blind negative do not understand.
points, plus one.
some dont like to show it
and others dont always know it
but I'll always be a poet
expressing my imagination
lost in my own creation
a poets life for me
I find a release of feelings
every time I write these pieces
it's like I escape with glee
no other I'd care to mention
when I'm lost releasing my tensions
in a poetic, creative release.
Picking up water with holes that leak
Colander like brain cells flicker
More like a short circuited raindrop
Rainbows are made for watering
Where did I leave my hat?
Fuck...it’s always somethin
Expressionless, void and voluptuous deed
soft, as one
who is missing its taste, soft belly
threading the ballet
in the solemnity of trees without their leaves, thinning quilting mothers working the windy morning airs, carry the
violet processions
to strange ensnares...
Comments
perzactly.
take a good look
this could be the day
hold my hand
lie beside me
i just need to say
For me the pro is:
I am...
DREAMY REINCARNATION
The con is.. TRUST...
I saw "Yellow" and thought, who stole my old username?
sigh
So. the "con" of being a poet is TRUST? Care to elucidate? I understand the dreamy reincarnation, and I've got my interpretation of the con, but...
hmmmm
I just meant to say that I have trouble sharing my poetry with those people in my day to day daily life, family, friends I try to have meaningful conversation as to also share some poems I have written... Honestly they aren't interested, so whatever... I don't trust them as much anymore. SAD
I love them all, but fuck them, I love my poetry so much.. more!
I keep poetry life seperate from family life...
embrace your own creative channels, invent/invert more.
find yourself endlessly searching, looking for something to fill a feeling,
not necessarily thoughts but more felt visuals transcending closing eyes.
and the blind negative do not understand.
points, plus one.
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
and others dont always know it
but I'll always be a poet
expressing my imagination
lost in my own creation
a poets life for me
I find a release of feelings
every time I write these pieces
it's like I escape with glee
no other I'd care to mention
when I'm lost releasing my tensions
in a poetic, creative release.
Colander like brain cells flicker
More like a short circuited raindrop
Rainbows are made for watering
Where did I leave my hat?
Fuck...it’s always somethin
"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."
Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
paint a story locked to measurement
evade, elude, elucidate
entrap and leave a moment under
stated, understanding
heh.
Er...
'Sup?
soft, as one
who is missing its taste, soft belly
threading the ballet
in the solemnity of trees without their leaves, thinning quilting mothers working the windy morning airs, carry the
violet processions
to strange ensnares...