Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
three weeks
and the shards were still there
still scattered on the tiles
of the kitchen floor
that was a thick glass
meant for classy strong drinks
like whiskey
Yeah, now that he thought about it
......
These are poems about poetry, poems about writing, poems about the process of composition...
The Composition of Shadows (I)
by Michael R. Burch
“I made it out of a mouthful of air.”—W. B. Yeats
We breathe and so we write; the night
......
at least the clouds are
smiling back
they have faces and
souls
and they stare back from their
blue canvas,
down on his dirty, snot-smeared face
It’s a warm
......
The Written Word by John Michaelson
The infinite and eternal power of the written word,
Penned naked and vulnerable on the page,
Lies only in the destiny of its earnest reader,
With its untapped potential trapped in its cage.
As its curves and its corners are flowing with ease,
Whether handwritten, typed or etched,
Its power to influence the reader it attracts,
......
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
I stand back, and light the fuse,
hoping, to awake my muse.
She could be found anywhere,
yet, when I call her, she's not there.
In field of clover, with no pen,
my muse flies to me again.
When I'm busy, hard a work,
she teases me, what a jerk.
......
The clouds are falling each hour
There's no sun though it's warm today
Just a grey day to sit and write you a love song
In the morning, I woke up and drew
For there were no words floating inside my head
Until after lunch when it was quiet
As everyone is gone except for me
Sitting at the computer, I could write
However, there's nothing to write about
Except the solitude I might have experienced
......
These are poems about poetry, poems about writing, poems about the process of composition...
The Composition of Shadows (I)
by Michael R. Burch
“I made it out of a mouthful of air.”—W. B. Yeats
We breathe and so we write; the night
......
The Written Word by John Michaelson
The infinite and eternal power of the written word,
Penned naked and vulnerable on the page,
Lies only in the destiny of its earnest reader,
With its untapped potential trapped in its cage.
As its curves and its corners are flowing with ease,
Whether handwritten, typed or etched,
Its power to influence the reader it attracts,
......