A tribute to all poets and to those who have the hearts of a poet |
Inspiration
Like an orgasm in my mind,
The words discharge in like of kind.
Their coming spews its' mighty force,
From out my quill and then therefore.
The thoughts that ran so true and fair,
Were from my yesterday, not here.
Times of mirth, love and pain,
All mixed up here inside my brain.
Where comes this endless energy?
Far from my mind...It comes to me.
The words, like patterns in a weave,
A shirt, a collar, then a sleeve.
My needle is the pen at night,
The cloth is paper on which I write.
Here I am at two again,
Sleeping not with any ken.
In dreams the worded arrows lie,
String the bow and let them fly.
Straight from the heart in my chest.
To tell what I love, what is best.
In lore of ancient calvalry,
There were knights who wept for thee.
Their world so strange to us today,
And yet, ours too will fade away.
And in some far off galaxie,
They'll wonder how words came to me.
Kay E. Ekwall © l998
Sweet Surrender
You talk to me
through your poems
...oh bard...
And yet, I know
your words are
for the world.
The outpourings
of your heart, your soul,
your agony...
are an invitation to join
in your exporation
of words' sweet imagery.
Oh poet, how many
hearts do you touch,
how many tears...
do you bring?
Is your heart touched..
like mine, by other poets,
other dreamers?
I release my resistance
floating among your words,
I let my feelings flow
into that space
you have created
for us all.
........in sweet surrender......
Kay E. Ekwall © l998
The Words of a Poet
Did you ever stop to think.....
does the poet create the dream
or does the dream make the poet?
Timeless sounds meander, roam
through the minds of poets
weaving magical scenerios
from otherwise ordinary realities.
Hearts which otherwise remain locked,
doors closed, and numbed......
somehow are touched by poets.
Tears flow as the words reach inside
open paths, heal those open wounds
forming new...baby soft skins.
Poets are mostly misinterpreted....
misunderstood by the world at large,
and even, by themselves.....
As words flow endlesssly...like lava
pours from the depths of the earth,
in its' struggle to be free.
The words of a poet can strip the truth
bare...like a bird plucked of its' feathers
naked, exposed to the world.
Or, they can embellish, creating a romantic
fantasy to dive into....letting imaginations
runs wildly.
Poets have to be dreamers,
but, not all dreamers are poets,
some are artists, musicians, builders,
And, not all dreams come true.
Imagining is a beginning......and
great dreams accomplish great things!
Kay E. Ekwall © l998
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