Poetry Dreams

Of poetry I'm motivated
only if I'm infatuated
and need to plant dreams.
Rhyming may be schemes.

Such rythm of kind words
are a myriad flock of birds
flying every which way
if not beheldst under sway
in tune with its meaning.

I'm expressing my gleaning
of passions and ideas fond
known by those so beyond
neanderthalism to like a poem.

Sometimes I write to show 'em
more of it should be done.
Reading as well as deed's fun.
And finding puzzles inside
make poems imagination's ride
when mind is swept along.
I want my imagery strong.

I try to phrase as I think,
and use verbs, not a link
to some recognizable thing,
but action as feeling to sing.

Saying in phrase as reflex
in the tension fighting a hex,
I prefer seem monkish doing
the business mind of glueing
in pursuit of pleasant term.

But often only a new girl
can give my mind a whirl,
the one I need for rhyming.

There's a new rush of timing
to put words fantasy born
of moment's dynamic forlorn
left yearning new expression.
Mental emotionality session
when I seek a lovely refining.

And of poetry I'd again sing
as of life lyricised I feel
words I pen to poetry's seal.

For me such pondering's real.
And I'm grateful for verse.
Poetry allows me to speak
ideas better and/or worse
than imagination at peak.
I keep mine personal, deep
into a relationship's seep
of conveyancing dreams.

Please in such spirit
forgive my poetry... (but hear it).

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