When you feel alive with each word inside…
Fubar-ed up coffee wake-up juice, lofting…
Overcast with oscillating breeze and a far away (cars) rush of a river. There’s a shiver to it like snow coming. And yet I smile That soft peace of empty yet all around.
It begins with a smile tickling leaves as falls breeze. Coffee? Pot of French roast with foamy but not foam foam choc soy. Off just a little way sunshine illuminates all with ease. Oh surely you laugh as how serious is a rhyme?
But such things do last – the right words, right-timed.
Now back to breeze’ voice asking not quite well
Just asking for choice -movement, what the hell.
Shall it be forward to some picnic scene
Or just more words chords imagining how things?
Almost to 10’s. You know! Pentameter? SONNET!? Being able to know you get closer than ever to feeling the beat… such is part of when you know you’re writing right! Whether or not anyone else cares… you can feel it’s neat!
Also, I know it’s odd to compress a poem into prose… but f Scott Fitzgerald seemed to in his writing. While I am no Fitzgerald lol you can tell me if I have hope to write novels maybe eventually! ;). Til then poems! Heh, you needn’t say a thing.
This is an exercise in do I feel I do well. Because I have to believe me too. (Even if it’s here for you to see too)