A Caged Tongue

Nightmares are me
tongueless, my skull
a cage for thought,

my dying mind screaming,

Burst at the mouth now,
lest I implode later!

my mouth empty
of words,

dead to words.

Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream”.

The Poet Needs No Gloom

To create art is “[t]o evoke in oneself a feeling one has once experienced, and having evoked it in oneself, then, by means of movements, lines, colors, sounds, or forms expressed in words, so to transmit that feeling that others may experience the same feeling.” ~ Leo Tolstoy, in What Is Art?

The poet needs no gloom
to craft verses that swallow
the night’s dark—the world
chants of darkness, waiting
to be written into lit words
that speak of all life.

Poems aren’t always self-lived
but to survive (and to grow),
poetry must be
filled with well-tasted living—

a life-kissed quill
thought and feels.

the wee notes…
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Blacked out from handwritten poem bits I share on Instagram, and stitched to recycled coffee filters (I can’t drink coffee, so I look for any excuse to sniff it *mad giggles*).