Writing (Page 2)

Out of tune and out of time. An old, broken-down piano with well-worn keys was found abandoned in a derelict Irish farmhouse.

Why do we employ pen and paper
or, having been given words,
dutifully put them to rhyme?

Why do we apply oil to canvas,
or form a masterpiece
with not but sound?

[continue]. . .

Image Credit: "Man making a puzzle on the wall. empty wall with space for text" by chaiyapruek, "Soft Rose" from Lene (composite by E.L. Redwine)

Some poems seem to flow out,
while others take their time.
A collection of thoughts and feelings,
that don’t always have to rhyme

Sometimes they’re full of depth,
and others skim the surface.
Exposing feelings that are raw,
expressed with simple grace.

[continue]. . .

Image Credit: "Little girl and open book" from Kevin Carden

I relish the feeling of crisp new pages,
the scent of ink in the air.

Some, may speak of enchanted places.
A handsome prince, a maiden fair.

[continue]. . .

An open book, with pages extended upward, lies on a light-colored wooden desk. Sparkles, light, and smoke appear to be coming from within it.

Enjoying the beauty of meter and rhyme,
a poem revealed inscribing each line.
One day I’ll be lost to the passage of time,
but dreams will live on in this poem of mine.

[continue]. . .

A quill pen and an ink well rest on an old, open book in a library.

Let us begin to write with colour.
Measuring beats with the stroke of a pen.
Not all are meant to share with another,
but help us recall lost moments again.

[continue]. . .