“The secret is in the line.” ~Charles Bukowski
rapid voices speak to me
not taking the time to introduce who
they are
may it be my poetic voice
or of poet’s past
words from pages
or alone from conversation overheard
spilt out and reaching my language
as different each time
wishing to record them all
writing faster or longer isn’t enough
simply they have fallen
deep into thoughts - they are fighting
to own a unique voice
inclined to stain the paper
as ink splotches under artistic
direction
Why find surprises?
amongst such yearning
lovingly please share unafraid
instead of battling fear
confidence of consequence
forever making me smile
missing words until filled in
bringing space to the void
adding brilliance to lines
enjoying how it feels
when words enter then exit
caressing dreams from fingertips
especially driven until discovering a
stopping point
from what is being told
creativity creeps like being so special
can
be heard in music
like lyrics from Radiohead
or another musical artist
not to be favored unless one relates
because infinitely these words
are meant to be deliciously revisited
felt around inner souls
speaking what is delicately heard
within the midst of fog
a driving force in poetic language
written grasping words from the wind
spoken to who are listening
begging innocently
place me with value
to be seen, read and heard
repeated over again shaken
so carefully stirred
mixing introductory wisdom
in philosophical corners from pieces of
truth
coming from all directions
pasted so reverently
as a poem happened.
©JAC
***
Written exclusively for the Week 81 prompt at dverse Poet’s Pub. Join in the fun & add your
own to the list!
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