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Poetry is dreams set free
to flow through pen and land on page
e're now left pure white just for me;
A way to fill an empty stage.

It lets me tell of sights unseen
by others in a different place
where there's little trace of green
or cool woods of gentle grace.

These words can even go through time
if they're put together right.
With a bit of thoughtful rhyme
perhaps they'll last at least one night.

I can share my world with you
through pulses within silicone
in a world wide net venue
which will go on after I have gone.

Perhaps in some year to come
a grandchild might read "Winter's Call"
and think of where the words came from
then decide to read them all.

But deep down I just expect
these poems are written to connect.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Editing stage: 


A cry in the wilderness of this electronic age.
Where our pens never touch the page.
The tapping of the keys is all we hear
The words float away in the ether out there

I oft wonder what will become of my words
A child reading may say this is absurd
Or just push away as a game catches their eyes
What will become of our thoughts then I realise

That the tapping keys is just for our fingers so
We think not a game, but the children they know
That the worth of words will become obsolete
With their buttons they know of another street

Where will these grand words of yours go
A hard copy is one of the things that I know
But a skip or two will see them all gone
Then to this world we have never belonged

Stan I shall keep a place for you to go
It's on to the nearest star in thought you know
Where all is as been told for many a year
Lambs lay with lions we are pure energy there

Think talk and a new dimension will hold us in awe
If you need to find me all you need is to call
Call Granddad with your think and you will see
We will walk in the Aspen groves just you and me

You could always visit my Cave and have a glass of Moonshine lol, Love you my Brother
Yours as always Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Perhaps we could brew up some muscadine wine lol..................stan

author comment

I will brew Black beauty for you
in the confines of my cave.
I have many for you here to try,
Carlos will bring cheer.
Cowart can’t seem to find,
though Flowers leaves the others behind
Then several more for your lips to touch,
Fry and Granny taste too much

Then Val a sweet gal, with Ison and James
with the added Jumbo bunch.
Bite a hole in the skin such out the juices within,
a way to misuse this fruit.
I learned of these at the Uni of Florida
one called Southern Home was fit
Mind you too much of this brew
would obviously make you sit

Under my Magnolia
I will drink my Memory away
Please do not disturb me for a few days,
Scuppernog I will say
Whilst I am sober and can think straight
before my minds in a stew
So if you pass my cave let’s have a rave
and empty a glass or two.

Have some fun, Great to talk with you,
Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

poetry is emotion
in slow motion
like a slow march
A Royal Funeral

how do u like it


Short, sweet and to the point (unlike my stuff which tends to ramble). Thanks for dropping by...........stan

author comment

Stan & Ian it looks like you are moving way to ahead even though in thought than you ought to be :)

raj (sublime_ocean)

bringing to remembrance

Thank you emeka............stan

author comment
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