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I am no poet

I am a person with thoughts ablaze,
a human form of the sun's rays,
but I hold no magnificence in my quill,
to write out my thoughts at mere will.

A thousand thoughts ponder in my mind,
fathoms deep, they steal all my time,
I wonder and wonder,
how to put them in line,
to lay them in verses,
and to sing them with chimes.


They race up like waves,
and drown me in their pace,
how hard I try to escape their gaze,
but here I am stuck in their maze.


All the beauty I see,
are lost in my mind,
but I am no poet like Wordsworth or Whitman,
to bring them to rhyme.


Lost in fiery and beauty,
lost in race and creed,
lost in the quest to fulfill my needs,
lost in time and lost in minds,
lost to seek, too lost to speak,
lost I am too much ,
to express them in poetry.

here they are, waiting for me,
infinite like the drops of rain,
to embed them in verses sublime,
but I neither have the words that rhyme,
nor am I a poet like Geraldine.
(Geraldine Conolloy (1947-present))

Even now, I have much to say,
I am webbed with thoughts,
that tie the knots, that never chime,
nor rhyme, to make beautiful lines,
for I am no poet like Jean de La Fontaine.
(1621-1695)

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I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.





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Some facts are hard to digest but true. To all those pretty people with sour cream 'fairness' masks sploshed on their dusty dusky faces once in every week, the fad dieting extremists whose diet routine involves surviving a whole year through the energy generated by a single pea (Are you the dragon warrior? Tai Lung is on the look out), to all those having a face lift, botox and brouhaha for looking the GLAM-WHAM aunty-next-door (scratch that!). This is a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
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Within

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The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside that is abstract, the abstract is opaque, yet translucent, the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at daw…