Chapter 2: Blood of the Pen

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 70

It's Still Poetry 

If you lay some words on me 
and they don’t mean a thing to me
it doesn’t mean that it’s not art
It is - if coming from the heart

Just because I don’t agree
or understand completely
doesn’t mean it’s asinine
we all feel this from time to time

If your poem lacks eloquence
or doesn’t make a lot of sense;
or if it fails to end in rhyme 
it doesn’t have to all the time

Poetic types can just express
how we’re feeling more or less
through funny, silly, inane chat
I guess we just converse like that!


Pristine Pondering

What were my eyes searching for 
As we sat awhile above the crowd?
Taking in the freedom’s wind
Forming shapes from timid clouds

I cast my cares
to the brisk mountain air
In hopes that I might see
What hunter's eyes
had not yet spied
in curiosity

I asked myself 
is there such a place
In the deepest patch of wood?
Where human hands 
have not yet touched
and feet have not yet stood?

A place the axe has ne'er been rung
Or a bullet's aim has failed
Beyond the azure lakes and streams
Where a child's boat has sailed

A place in which the artist's brush
Has not been quick to spy
Where nature reveals her handiwork
Unknown to human eye

Where boughs remain unbroken
And peace is ever still
A part of life we have yet to find
And perhaps we never will


It's happening again
My thoughts are bleeding through my pen
My writer's block in shock tonight
as I enter dawn by candlelight

Divulge to all my joy and pain
reiterate my words again
From wrinkled mind to wrinkled page
I spill it all in grace or rage

Do I attract the friends I make
by inviting laughs for egos' sake?
Or tugging at their empathy
To bring them closer still to me?

I write to share a common ground
Indulging in the craft I've found
By seeping through my trusty pen
I've found my niche', my love, my friend.

  The Price of Solitude

The moonlight peered slyly through the evergreen trees
A tattered moth caught in the gust of the breeze
Took a dangerous dive towards the crackling fire
The smoke swirled and slithered as the embers rose higher

Wet, soggy mosses that dampened the wood
Bogged me down slowly wherever I stood
I breathed to the rhythm of a cricket's song
That sang far off somewhere under the lawn

The mountains loomed ominous over my head
clouds gathered in masses and filled me with dread
What price did I pay for my privacy here?
Reward was the solitude well worth the fear

 My Friend, the Moon

When at last the day does end
I shall greet the moon
It is my one and only friend
that accompanies my room
It fills my mind with silence
as the night slips slowly by 
and all the time it's shining
it never blinds my eye
And when it's time for it to sleep
it slips into the sea
and sends its friend
the cheery sun
to come 'awaken me

  The Eye of the Beholder

Some relate their lives to us in pictures
I prefer to tell my life in words
Most draw upon the visions the images display
I draw upon the verses I have heard

The eloquence that floats among the verses
transcending me through endless time and space
in subtle imagery I can see a far off distant land
without ever having left my current place

I smile when I ponder this elation
and contemplate the world in which I dwell
If beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
In poetry I see it very well 

  Page Twenty Eight

What shall I place
on page twenty-eight?
my loves, my goals, my sorrows?
I'm hoping through grace
my words (though not great)
will still ring true tomorrow

My soul flows again
from my diligent pen
and gathers my thoughts and emotions
setting in place a run-away pace
that clings to my truest devotion

For writing like this - 
it's an absolute bliss
to share with the world my desires
So whatever I place
on page twenty-eight
it's with hope
that I've truly inspired

 The Blood of Secrecy

The whole world’s sun in my own backyard!
How it got there wasn’t hard
Its daily route around the globe 
invites a new day to unfold
Now once again it takes my mind; 
that’s cleaned and scraped and freshly lined
and ready for a brand-new day
the all but unfamiliar way
of keeping things I wish to hide
Me-the inner self inside
And as the east reveals her moon
I sense the evening coming soon
to hide my mind inside my dreams 
and bind it tight with trusty seams
for I must dwell in privacy 
(as that’s my preference now, you see)
I AM an island to myself 
and do exist here very well     
I must dictate my own control 
of what I spill from out 'my soul
Intrusion’s needle to my vein 
that when pricked, begins to drain
the blood of all my secrecy 
the only kind that’s found in me.

Submitted: March 05, 2022

© Copyright 2022 mari' emeraude. All rights reserved.


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