My soul vibrates Longing to be a conduit for creation The spark burns high and hot My hands long to be covered in Ink Paint Pastels To fill blank pages with worlds That only exist in the nebula inside me Demanding to birth a thousand stars Urgent and consuming I long to surrender to the deflagration Of creative energy Igniting a conflagration Leaving me empty and sated Surrounded by pages filled with words Dipped in vivid colors and Complex textures Tangible, living pieces of me Like so many falling leaves in autumn
Poems begin with desire Deep and persistent Feverish and demanding They demand attention Needful hungry things Finicky in how they want to be handled Not touched by just any words They must be the RIGHT words Poems demand intimate connection Crave it Require it They require time to build A sacred dance between poet and pen The stimulation of mind and soul Identification and reflection of the human experience Poems must touch the most intimate parts of us Where human and universe converge Grasping and pulling feelings to the surface Until the soul explodes in prismatic truths Leaving the skin erupted in goosebumps Pupils dilated and breath quickened The soul's hunger satisfied Poems demand nothing less
I spill ink in controlled rivulets across an unstained page, setting down with curves and flourishes the tangled, unintelligible, intangible emotional illiteracies of my mind now transmuted into words and phrases, provoked into life, and now chained irrevocably into place by pen, hand, and mind.
Words Wishes and Wisdom 