Thought i would start, each stanza, with the
same word. Sometimes it's nice to have a thought.
My mind likes to read and write.
It takes that direction day or night,
It seems strange that's all I need,
To keep the mind alive of I
Sometimes it acts out it's fantasys,
It's intoxication helps me to write.
I'd like to mention it relieves the tension,
Of my mind being alone sometimes.
Nighttime is the time my mind likes best,
A myriad of thoughts enter along the way.
Some may go while others often stay,
A few thoughts lighten up a forgotten rhyme.
Until daytime comes again remembering,
There's always Nighttime.
Variability of thought's isn't strange to me,
It's what I need the most when I stop to read.
It's part of the reality within my forever mind,
That forgotten part of me that I can't explain,
that is the variability.
Often the vampires come drawn to me,
Drifting patriciously through my rhymes.
Attacking each and every time I write,
Mostly daytimes. this sort don't come out
at night, well not often.
Thirteen doesn't bother me it never ever did,
Not then, not now, not even when I was a kid.
Don't step on the cracks, watch out for that black cat.
As for my wife I'd probably get a slap. If we didn't
get wed because of the number on her door,
of course number Thirteen.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Written on 2026-09-19 at 00:19
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same word. Sometimes it's nice to have a thought.
NIGHTTIME COMES AT NIGHTTIME
I have a strange confession,My mind likes to read and write.
It takes that direction day or night,
It seems strange that's all I need,
To keep the mind alive of I
Sometimes it acts out it's fantasys,
It's intoxication helps me to write.
I'd like to mention it relieves the tension,
Of my mind being alone sometimes.
Nighttime is the time my mind likes best,
A myriad of thoughts enter along the way.
Some may go while others often stay,
A few thoughts lighten up a forgotten rhyme.
Until daytime comes again remembering,
There's always Nighttime.
Variability of thought's isn't strange to me,
It's what I need the most when I stop to read.
It's part of the reality within my forever mind,
That forgotten part of me that I can't explain,
that is the variability.
Often the vampires come drawn to me,
Drifting patriciously through my rhymes.
Attacking each and every time I write,
Mostly daytimes. this sort don't come out
at night, well not often.
Thirteen doesn't bother me it never ever did,
Not then, not now, not even when I was a kid.
Don't step on the cracks, watch out for that black cat.
As for my wife I'd probably get a slap. If we didn't
get wed because of the number on her door,
of course number Thirteen.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Written on 2026-09-19 at 00:19
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
