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 run
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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