If you
were to
give us
feedback on
our cultivated
and sincere
ideas we
would sooner
starve to
death rather
than swallow
one bite
of your
outside and
unwanted mediocrity
that you
always attempt
to poison
us with.
synthetic diamond
alphabet revolution
permanent carte blanche
expressing all emotions
with the same worn out keyboard
More at https://twitter.com/hwl76.
Magic is an art,
if we will let them see what’s
behind the curtain.
More at https://allpoetry.com/poem/14621110-Is-magic-an-art-form–by-Raven-Van-Blizz.
While painting,
the colors met, mixed and blended.
The party had just started when
a splash of brilliance emerged.
leaves paper the sky; spreading hands shielding
the blaze of a sultry day from the tinder box
crumble threading our journey through the trees
as pages turning diary like to once before
when youth’s lantern faces gleaming
we shone with song more deliciously ardent
than the apple buds’ danced imaginings.
the circle full, the trunks sawn and strange,
pressed to a paper of our own printed work
where we write of that day’s woodland walk
and those fierce rent wandering words
fixing forever breathing, igniting whole
the flame leaping blaze of those tiger thoughts
of that shady sunned apple grown afternoon.
More at https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com/.
Capturing the way
of the world
through lens-
Life is seen at
every angle.
Slashed as paint ripping wild the canvas
of its confines you woke the room,
your music a stringed surge reverberating
the grey.
Around the round words your lips move
as delicate as geraniums drift,
as electric panthers wag
the tangle of minted night.
owning us more than angels
and the very lyric breath
of each plucked, pink note
is a danced destiny.
More at https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com/.
Besides a pencil or pen,
Paper, and an imagination,
You need the ears of a moth,
A bird’s vision,
A Philomath’s brain,
A Hippocratic heart,
And an empath’s spirit,
Then mix in incidents from your life.
Let simmer,
And you’ll write.
You’ll write.
It’s just words written
in the right order,
random thoughts
plucked from the mind.
Unscrambled words,
mixed emotions,
put onto paper,
slowly typed.
Patience, perseverance
trying, getting words out,
ideas, ideas inspiring
words, uplifting spirits.
Brain freezes, mental blocks,
self-doubt plaguing
indecisive minds,
typing, editing.
They’re just words, they say,
words of wisdom, a lifelong
passion to inspire, to
dream, to write.
Lack of sleep, bleary screens,
long hours, tiredness,
we do it, for we
are poets.
i often imagine stumbling upon a new truth
that would change the course of humanity
I rely that no one else ever reads my stuff
no chance of my verses ever going viral
a posthumous find might showcase my genius
the uncertainty keeps my mind guessing
my thoughts are safe with me, no problem
for now.