One More Poem
Hear the rain lash on the window, in the stillness of the night
Take the pen within my fingers, and know nows the time to write.
Add the words across the pages, of how deep I feel inside
Make the words ring with a truth that I just know I cannot hide.
Let the ink flow free and quickly, as my thoughts are written down,
In my quiet inspiration, let my feelings slowly drown...
In a sea of my emotions, as I wait to see the dawn,
One more poem for the memoires, one more artists work is drawn.
One more poem it is written, one more page is stained with tears,
One more verse to show the passing of this simple poets years...
One more verse needs to be written, one more word to find a rhyme,
One more ever changing season, one more never ending line.
Artist Of The Written Word.  In golden clouds of smiles I came My life would never be the same Like a portrait in a silver frame And I didnt have a name. My brushstrokes danced across the sky And painted clouds to float on high And palm trees which would catch my eye And breeze which ruffled like a sigh. Just nameless me, so incomplete, In fields of golden growing wheat, An artists canvas, like a sheet, An artists work, so very neat. Yet in reality its true, I am no painter... have no clue, But art to me, are written lines, I paint my picture, in my rhymes. In coloured flowing waves of blue I write of life and love so true, And on my canvas etched in green Are all the words my heart can mean. I may not paint a picture bold But using words, it can be told, In clarity and painted hue The feelings that I have for you. And at the end I sign my name, The same as in a fancy frame, And Monet I may never be... But I offer what I am..just me. I am an artist of the written word, I sweep the skies like a tiny bird, And leave my words when'ere I can, Without a special master plan. So when you next see silver frame.. And struggle for the artists name, And find that you just cannot see.. Maybe the artists name is me?
The Poet Within  Like an artist with a canvas, which is brilliantly white, So the poet faces anguish in the middle of the night, Seeking for the words she can delicately add, Making sure they rhyme, as they are scribbled on a pad. Each and every thought she will meticulously form, Like an actor on the stage, she will in time perform, Exposing all her feelings, the blood, the sweat, the tears, Delicate vocabulary she's gained throughout the years. Slowly she will pen, 'til arrival of the dawn, On every life experience she will in time have drawn, Opening her soul for a world of sweet critique, A kindly word of favour is all that she shall seek. She writes from somewhere deep, very deep within her heart, She might not have an ending, let alone a start, Sometimes the hours will pass and afford her not a word, All her inspiration falters, all her cries for help unheard. For words will come so slowly, and then gather their momentum, one or two at first, then eventually per centum, And she tries to write them down, before they vanish in the air, As the poem culminates with a flourish and a flair. In all of us, inside, lurks the poet there within, We have a masterpiece of poetry, just waiting to begin, We have words as yet unspoken, waiting for the time, We can add them all to paper, and formulate our rhyme. So when you cannot sleep in the middle of the night, Maybe then's the time to take up a pen and write? For inside each persons soul, is a poem to describe, And we all have deep inside us, the makings of a Scribe. A Monument.  This shall be my monument, Etched on the airwaves fair, A poem which shall mark the spot, To show that I was there. A poem on a webpage, Is what I did the best, And it shall last forevermore, When I am at my rest. When I'm long forgotten, Folks will surf this site one day, And read the words I cared to write, And know I was " okay ". And when you come to join me, You can appreciate the sight, I'll be the one sat in the corner... With my pen in hand, to write.
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I Love Writing Poetry.
I love writing poetry, I do it all the time,
I like to find the perfect verse, and then to make it rhyme.
Enjoying searching out new words, relating to my day,
Arranging them in artful form, like a grand floral display.
The things I see from day to day, I like to put to verse,
Like a sojourn through a lifetime, which I somehow must traverse.
I love to sprinkle poetry on day to day events,
All filed within my tiny mind, in separate sweet segments.
I like to capture moments, and get them down in rhyme,
It gives my days a meaning, and makes me feel sublime.
So do not mock this poet, she really means no harm,
And many things she writes of, are filled with grace and charm.
So sit back and enjoy the words she may just send to you,
As she pauses for reflection, to wish you all adieu.
The Simple Poets Way. 
There is an effervescent magic in the dawning of a day
A vision of the clouds above which dance in sweet array,
With sunlight peering through and challenging my sense
To leave my mark on this today, with feelings so intense.
I cannot save the world with my actions or my deeds
I cannot plant the universe with joyous kindess seeds,
But I'll do just what I can , in my subtle simple way
To make the morning brighter for the world in some small way.
I'll extend a hand of friendship, to those who care to hold
I will tell my tales of gentleness, to those who will be told,
In a few poetic rhymes, I will share the things I know,
For those who wish to listen, before on their way they go.
I will open up my heart to expose the love within
I will try to live a life which doesnt hurt, and doesnt sin.
And when a new dawn breaks, as we know it surely will
And our cup will runneth over, we will know we can refill.
So when you see the dawn, as it breaks another day,
Think of all the little treasures which will pass you on the way,
And appreciate the goodness of a life thats filled with love,
And give thanks to God Almighty, your saviour up above.
Try to be the type of person, whom you would like to know,
Try to offer up the kindness, which you'd wish for folks to show,
And when you're feeling sad, and life makes you shed a tear,
Remember of these words I type, which truly are sincere..
The beauty of a morning is created just for you,
The ocean in its glory, the skies of power blue,
The valleys and the hillsides, the friendships for the making..
Are all Gods gifts so wonderful, and there just for your taking.
Live every day to fullness, as if it were your last,
Take every opportunity, before it rushes past,
Appreciate each rainbow, each perfect fine sunset..
And live your life as best you can, with no time for regret.
Dont hold on to your grudges, however big they are,
Open arms, embrace the world, however long and far.
Cast aside your shackles, surrounding every day,
And live a life thats pure and good, the simple poets way.
How wonderful the poet be. 
How wonderful the poet be, he paints with words so wild a free,
It is through him that the blind can see,
And his colours are immortal.
Uplifted from the poets pen, a miracle of words, and then,
A guidance 'til the last amen,
And his words will live immortal.
Such gentleness to yet be heard, from there within the poets word,
Such messages can be transferred,
To heal the minds of nations.
Throughout the sunsets of our time, whatever mountains we do climb,
We're linked within the poets rhyme,
To breech the great divide.
The poet reaches out to you, with all he says so deep and true,
He paints the most amazing view...
For you to hold forever.
Be gentle is my heartfelt plea, with the fragile poet, you will see,
For the poets words are kind to thee...
How wonderful the poet be.
The Writers Method. 
A gentle inspiration,
Is every poets need,
To grow into the flower,
From a tiny little seed.
A poem's like a blossom,
It needs the gentle rain,
A quiet understanding,
To flower once again.
A vision, that could do it,
Create a master rhyme,
Sunshine after rainstorms,
It works - most every time.
But I find my inspiration,
At least, for the most part,
From a feeling deep inside of me,
Residing in my heart.
I pull on lifes emotions,
On feelings I have known,
On love, and smiles and laughter,
And on kindness that's been shown.
And if that does not work for me,
And I stumble for a rhyme,
I fill my mind with thoughts of you-
And I find that works just fine.
The Silence Of The Night ( The Writers Friend ). 
This is the silence of the night, as stars shine bright,
When quiet echoes in my head, and all seems dead.
The day is gone for now, we know not how,
And though I hate to moan, I'm here alone.
The dream dust sparkles through my eyes, it's no surprise,
I have no fear of dark, however stark.
And high above the night, the moon shines bright,
The moonlight it shall send, my only friend.
Tomorrow just the same, it sounds so lame,
But all that I can guage, this empty page.
The words now in my sight, I slowly write,
My only company, as you can see.
Embrace me tender night, you feel so right,
You can become my cure, of this I'm sure.
You can begin to shine, this work of mine,
As I complete this line, and one more rhyme.
My lonliness is here, aside of me,
It's how it's always been, so it does seem.
My written work complete, one final sheet,
I now can rest my head, it's time for bed.
Tomorrow one more time, and one more rhyme,
I will be here like now, with fevered brow,
A solitary way, like every day,
The truest ever scene, an empty screen.
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