I would like so much more from you
As we reach that fork in the trail
You have to go right and me to the left
There is no point in looking back
As we travel on, before we cannot see
So leave something great of you, for me.

.
Let me think a while, what that can be.
Some of your writing, not just for me
I need a part of you that will live on
As this winters cold grips us both so hard
Then I can say, and let others read your card.
That your spoken words are what we should know.

Oh yes, my mother! You are an age-old ragged banner,
fluttering in the stormy winds of beastly corruption,
over the broken highways and footpaths of hopeless hope,
trodden with the spiky jackboots of nasty politics.

Yet we are the tough strings, tightly holding your upper ends,
and tying tight to withering branches of ‘conomy;
Yet we are the unbreakable pieces of heavy stone,
hanging like heavy medals from your crippling lower ends.

we all at sometime or the other
experience a writer’s block ….we feel so much inferior…to our selves then ….as one reads another …we feel their vibrations
and in tune commence to vibrate ….our mind once again commences to oscillate ….rotate …as heart palpitates ….

then we like dogs let loose our tongues …. some turmoil …some emotion has well begun …
the writer’s block does erase …
how it does one amaze
out pours glow …like the rivers flow
words come out as you know …from nowhere…

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B1CDwQMLJs6QVFBwUEpRNXBIZlE/edit?usp=doc...

Searching for understanding
Mind's eye loses focus
Clear picture once beheld
Poetic thoughts burned out

Words of choice once freer
Oppressed by life daily stresses
Memories etched on lone hearts
Blank pages bear no poetry