Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the house is as gray
as the sky, the light
towards the window dies
inches from penetration

this is a day that requires
strength, resolve...
to find equivalent sunshine
not in the usual places

the black ink looks good
in the silver air, the notions
sink upon the page,
stones in opaque water

there must be times for pain
pretending to be a clown in a garden
of petunias and periwinkles is nothing
but a smiley-face with arms and legs

I'm sorry if I'm too morose for you
this day...I'll smile if it settles you down
I'm not asking for you to join me
I'm asking for you to let me be authentic

there are times for rapture, times
to play the games of children, and
there are times to write poetry.....
pulled from the quivering guts of zombies

I write what I feel
feel what I write.....never
slam the door on unsolicited guests....
despite their hideous appearance

saw

Enjoyed this poem a lot. The closing lines are great lines. This is how I feel when I write certain types of poems.


there are times to write poetry.....
pulled from the quivering guts of zombies

I write what I feel
feel what I write.....never
slam the door on unsolicited guests....
despite their hideous appearance


My reply was cut off for some reason


I really like the way you put your thoughts into images.

the light
towards the window dies
inches from penetration

the black ink looks good
in the silver air,

stones in opaque water

petunias and periwinkles is nothing
but a smiley-face with arms and legs.....great image.

Look forward to reading more.



David

thanks David...appreciate your feedback...

Yes The poem is of the hour I can feel the room and the quiet of the mind.There are poems that remind me of times that in honest contemplation I felt the cold run deep, I wrote what I felt.
For me this is true poetry, when you write what you feel . When I read the poem I understood the truth of it .There is something more however, that the poet does ,that is to bring those feelings a tone of clarity in your wonderful lines, the last of the poem says it all for me, let the guest in and listen, we may hear something we need to hear, the gray shifts to blues .

thanx very much leafsailor.....good to know what my colleagues are feeling ...