The job of a poet to let the poems write
To get out of the way despite your fright
The poems are a gift from far away
Coming through the poet writing is the play
The opposite of work no task for the brain
Just transcribe the thoughts be they sunny or rain
The mystery of origin so readily clear
They come from a place both so far and near
Looking at the poems that write themself
I ask myself what do they reflect
Seeking to express an essence so pure
They cut to the heart of what we want more
Economical language landing where you live
Intended to pierce making you want to give
No longwinded verbose or curlicue flowery prose
Listen to the oracle take heed from one who knows
When you are done as writer or reader
I hope your taste is a bit sweeter
A life lived closer to your core
Shares gifts of experience that provide so much more
Have you ever tried writing poetry?
What was the experience like for you?
Did you have the courage to share it with a friend or a bigger audience?
How did they respond?
How did that make you feel?
- Stewart Levine ©
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