I am a logophile; a poetic junkie with a
High on poetry, slurring words like a lunatic.
Drugged by techniques, swooned into emotion
by this creative craving curse.
I bow to the will of this idolized ink, let my pen
stroke my soul into a living rage and bleed my
thoughts on paper.
My elation is the rush of creation; words roam
Inadequate verbal emotion makes me weak
and renders me useless.
Thirsty and breathless, i lurch along canvas
dumping the shards of experience sealed in
suitcases of my vocabulary.
The creative fire in me burns.
Keeps me up all night, wakes me at first light.
I write with a frenzy-my Sentences combined
describe my written scribe
I coax phrases to render them bold; weave
moments in line and verse, wield my whimsical
pen with a theatrical flourish
I craft words so all may waltz; floor the stage with
my well enunciated dictionary- tap the mic, seize
the moment and hope to God that my fiery
inspiration takes hold.
I am a drunk poetess mingling in the presence of
“Passion and pain are a poet’s portfolio.
When a poet loses his words, he’s also lost his voice”.