Contributor Posts

I tire of this writing style,
for words, come not to me.
My mind has slowed to a crawl,
as my body strength does flee.
Words which came along this way,
no longer do they appear to me.
Do I care? Of course I do,
for writing was a pleasure; mine.
Perhaps I need a spark again.
I'll try again, while drinking wine.

From my heart,
words came to beguile,
explaining why the
words came with style.
Asking of you, I say
you are looking
marvelous on this day.

Why do we demean a pig,
when we call someone a swine?
Is it because they're so messy
or if they squeal or whine,
or when they care not for others,
who detest how they dine?
I'll have some crackers and cheese
with my fresh glass of red whine.

The few words, I knew,
the less I would say,
except the words Hello
and have a good day.
I played by myself,
there were no other boys,
so I became the Master
of all of my toys.
I know what you're thinking,
for it most certainly would be,
I was a small child;
a child, age three

She was quite soft,
she sat next to me.
I put my arm around her,
moving as close as could be.
I remember the softness,
as I became more aware.
She was covered with fur,
there was no hair,
for my new love to be
was my first Teddy Bear.

My brain is now dormant.
No activity, to write or think,
except these little ditty's;
words so poor they stink.

You were right,
I was wrong,
So I decided
To write this song;
All of the words
Stuck in my head,
Makes me wonder,
And in its stead,
I have to decide,
Which way to go,
Or if I'll ride,
To the outdoor show,
For I will sing,
The whole night through,
If you let me see
The other side of you.

I think it is time
to write, as before,
using all the lost words,
by my feet, on the floor.
Adjectives and verbs
with metaphors galore,
lay in shambled baskets,
against the room's exit door.

A sunny day,
with clouds nearby,
with mottled sky.
No rain this day,
so I stayed dry.

So many words, lie in slumber,
locked in my head,
like dumb and dumber.

Call it a lasso.
Call it a rope.
Call it a lariat.
Don't be a dope,
for a rope
is a line,
in naval words.
Don't be foolish
or feel absurd.

A ghost,
a wisp of white,
Winter air,
was what I noticed.
It was everywhere,
there was no sound,
a slight odor of decay.
I reached for my phone,
but the cloud vanished,
going quickly away.
Is this a new omen
of a Spirit set free
or just a message
saying the next ghost
will be me?