The Simile
Words must be heard first.
Then, the brain and fingers begin to thirst.
An outlet to obtain
On paper or keyboard,
They do rain.
No needed notes,
For while some require these most,
No training, no learning,
No reading of the musical notes.
All heard by ear,
Only then do I hear,
The melody, the rythym, the rhyme,
Beating to my own set time.
Only then may the keys begin to parlay,
On keyboards so differently displayed.
One a computer, one a piano.
From both come, much like manna,
Feeding the writer, the singer, the player,
As meanings, themes, encouragement, they do layer.
Errors made, often too publicly displayed.
Errors made, many corrected my fingers played.
Published finally.
Read and heard.
May they each be inspired,
Even annointed,
Never to be exploited,
With messages often pointed
To inspire, correct, humor, to delight
If no other than their author as she does type and peck,
Finding the exact combination,
Before displaying such declarations
Of thoughts, rhymes, grand finales
For those in the valley,
For living on the mountain tops.
Writing poetry is like playing the piano.
No comments:
Post a Comment