Runaway conversations playing hide and seek but caught in poem


Weaving a poem

A poem rises every night
Forgotten by morning
It fills my evenings though

Coming and going at free will
Always eluding me
And my efforts are all in vain
Yet Keeping me busy
In hmmming and hemming
My moods' reflections in the words
My Moor's silhouette in my thoughts
In easing my jumpy heart
And tuning its rhythm
Making my mind an octopus
With all limbs up and away
But to no avail

Of what use are these evenings
If not conversations
Spinning yarns for my poem






Poetry by Deeps
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Written on 2016-01-06 at 17:08

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What a wonderful way to go to sleep. I admit that I think of the best poems when I am driving long distances, but they seem to disappear when I reach home rushing to do the million chores that need to be done. This poem is so soothing with its words and rhythm. I will try this at night. Thanks for sharing your beautiful words, so soft they felt. :)
Ashe
2016-01-07


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
I think of poems much the same way, as I go through my day I hold conversation with myself, and in the evening, the thoughts and images becomes poems. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but the need to write is always there.

You wrote well of a tricky concept, the art and need to write. This is very good.
pony
2016-01-06



True and very "deep" there deeps. I know this feeling all too well. But you've put it in words in a way I never quite can. Bravo.
2016-01-06