My Poetry

 For the last several weeks I have been writing more poetry. Some is okay and some needs work, but it’s a genre that I want to explore further. What I like about trying to write poetry, is in using words economically, that convey a feeling or moment. Really good poetry has that ability to take the reader into new worlds on the wings of words. I’ve noticed that some of my poetry repeats itself, the themes are similar, it’s just in the way I’ve arranged or used the words. I don’t think that is a bad thing, after all, writing is an art form and all artists tend to use the same themes but change them subtlety to evoke a different feeling.

 I have appreciated the kindness of those who follow my blog, either on WordPress, Facebook, Twitter or Tumbler, for liking what I have written. Also, to those who have made comments, that have inspired me to continue writing. As I seek to expand my own understanding about poetry, I hope that you will continue to follow as well as challenge this novice writer. We all have our “muse” that person or persons, whose love helps us to see our environment in new ways. My own muse is the love of family, especially my wife. In these troubling times, it is now, more than ever, that we need poetry in our lives. To open us up to new possibilities, show us worlds of wonder and love, giving us hope even in the shadow of darkness. 

 To my fellow writers, those of us who have been at it for years and those of us just now discovering their own voice, continue. Continue to challenge the mind and the heart, continue to write poems that evoke, prod and yes, even infuriate, the systems that seek to silence the artist. In doing so, we begin the long, slow process of transforming our society as well as transforming ourselves, to be the best we can ever be.

 So, with that being said, here is today’s offering. My title, Tending The Garden. 

The time continues to pass,

moments compressed,

in the forward march of life.

The past lingering,

the future enticing,

the present, confusing.

Walking the fine line,

between fantasy and reality,

as dreams die on the vine.

The heart waits in silence,

to hear the voice of love,

for the new growth,

a small, green shoot, 

breaking the hardened soil,

grasping for the light.

Where does this take me,

in the confines of my life?

I grasp for meaning,

as twilight nears.

Searching the soul,

in the midst of confusion.

Tending the garden,

that lies within,

rooting out 

the weeds of doubt.

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