It is sometimes said,
most often, without dread.
Poems are one's dealings,
of releasing feelings.
words mentally foldled.
Searching for the right word,
thinking some thoughs obsurd.
Timing of each sentence,
always of the essence.
Just as crutial as repentence,
of a sinful sentence, inward fenced.
Listing words, Rhyming,
thoughts of meanings racing,
I now gaze upon this page in wonder,
over so many words I ponder.
What will my next words be,
happy, Glad, as my thoughts flee,
So little though my be given, to a poets task,
so never ask, How did you think of that?
Just how did you think of that poem to write?
so lovely in black in white.
Flibber flabber, jibber jabber, words that rhyme,
this poem ends just in time.
Linda B Terrell
When some one asks you.
"How did you think to write that poem?"
Give them an answer from mine....
Jibber jabber this conversation ends just in time....
Poets are like flocking doves, among a new written verse. As we gobble each written crumb, to devour through reading and nourish our very minds and souls....
Thanks to all for the comments...