I Was Tagged

On the edge has asked me to address the following:
Please describe to us how you paint with words, a picture so clearly.

On the edge, your question has led me to discover that I have been searching for that answer for years. It is reflected in my work, so I will share it with you. I don't think it's the answer that you're looking for, but I also don't think I can provide that kind of answer because I don't know.

Brief Encounter

I met you in nineteen ninety one,
at a doctor's office with my son,
out of the blue you spoke to me,
those comments have never let me be.

"You have poetry inside of you,
and surrounding you is a white hue."
I stared at you in disbelief,
a stranger reading a tea leaf.

I don't recall saying a word,
acting like I had not heard,
to this day I don't know your name,
maybe we'll meet so I can explain.

The impact of that brief encounter,
I relive often as I saunter,
through life’s shadows and sunny spots,
to date I think of your words a lot.

How can you unravel what’s inside,
when it is buried deep and hides,
you saw a decade ahead of time,
predicting my interest in rhymes.


Reason

Infection was flowing through my veins,
fever was raging ever so high,
numb from the illness, I felt no pain,
there’s a reason why I didn’t die.

My strength was slowly ebbing away,
strangely, I wasn’t afraid of the end,
I’m too young, I attempted to say,
"the crisis is behind, you will mend".

I heard the doctor’s voice in a haze,
weakly I opened my eyes to see,
I was struggling to leave the maze,
where my sluggish mind had taken me.

I did indeed recover in time,
I knew there was something I should do,
yet it was important not to pine,
for I was to begin life anew.

I'm patiently waiting for a clue,
while remaining open to my fate,
pondering what I'm supposed to do,
waiting for that significant date.

I have a suspicion what it is,
then I doubt if it really could be,
yet my mind keeps whirling in a whiz,
my destiny is in poetry.


Words

I don’t want to work,
I just want to write,
isn’t that all right?
Too many words lurk
in darkness waiting,
wanting to appear
so people can hear,
before abating.

The words want to share
their meanings to all,
standing proud and tall,
showing that they care.
The message is clear.
the feelings are warm,
protecting from harm,
imposing no fear.

Paper is my friend,
keeping forever,
never to sever,
words that will not end.
And ink is the link
that captures all words
needed to be heard,
valuable as mink.

Fields of Words

My mind is never a blank screen,
even in my fanciest dream,
I plea, I cry for some relief,
it’s not written on my tealeaf.

While my husband snuggles in bed,
word’s creep and crawl into my head,
never giving a moment’s rest,
seeking nourishment from the breast.

Once on paper they thrive and grow,
spreading their seedlings as they sow,
many fields for words are ready,
acquiescing I feel heady.

Sleepless nights seem to be my fate,
words and I have numerous dates,
holding pen and paper in hand,
as they acquire and plow land.


The current global situation is tense and complicated, so my poetry is simple. I think modern readers are not in a frame of mind to attempt to unravel deep and complicated messages.

Writing poetry is a hobby which keeps a smile on my face.

Serena