As light as a ticklish
feather
Or heavy as a hammer blow
Words may arrive dishevelled
Angst ridden and
boisterous
Ready for instant retribution
Notes of lively linguistics
simmer
Spitting back in silent defiance
One’s soul emerges onto
paper
Fragments bear internal
scars
Nervous revelations reach
out
Eyes connect worlds of
words
A bare line finds a chink
of light
Night time confines the
darkness
Between the mountain or
sea
One is never far from
impact
Inspiration dwells in boredom
Or in the sliver of a
rainbow
Nature draws its own
opinion
Poets translate the
intention
Prose rests upon
opportunity
No formality or trussed
odes
Odd-like concoctions
travail
When prosing in poetic
style
©Copyright Eileen T O’Neill 27/08/2015
Poets United Mid-Week Motif: The Joy of Poetry…
