It's The readers Who Make Poems Come Alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's The Readers Who

Make Poems Come Alive.

 

 I am just a

collection of words

alphabetically formatted

to be understood

by an inspired mind

 

                                                 hair tickles his cheeks

                                                              as she bends


with digital dexterity 

           

                                                       lips press their own weight

pounding out his

or her emotions 
 
                                                      in silky cushioned flesh


with keys that
unlock thoughts
              
                                                      eyes close on the image
                                                       of a dreamy smile

it is the reader

that makes

this a poem


who turns it

into a happening

that moves his

or her soul

to the revelations                        tongues dance in horizontal,

 

                              tantalizing, twists

 

revelations

that the scribe

is attempting to convey

some see this

as a poeabout a poem.               fingers tangle in hair,

                          and bodies merge and snuggle

others find excitement

between the lines.

                                                        warmth premeates

                                                         erogenous zones

Some are

merely seeking

mistakes to edit

others are seeking

relief from the mundane

 

                                                  passionate parts harden and liquify

 

The poet is

an Atlas van

for moving words

like furniture

into a pleasing

arrangement....

 

                          staccatto hearts quicken                                                             the breathing of two

but it is readers

that comfortably

recline themselves

in the words couched

 

                                               on a cool basement couch in 1972

and finds dreams

that stir imagination

in the back rooms

of their hungry minds

                                                       with my dearest Cheryl                              

                                                       who I loved                              

                                                       only through clothes                              

                                                       and often in my

                                                       youthful dreams.

                       Time and fate denied

                                                       us the script                              

                                                       to consummate our

 

                                                       happily ever afters.

                           but the poetry

                                                       of it all lives on.

Readers make

the poetry come alive

writers feed the beast

that others are voyeurs for.

 

MFB III

©-MFB III

 

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Comments 2 comments

Ralph Deeds profile image

Ralph Deeds 7 years ago

Another good one!


poetlorraine 7 years ago

i am going to read this again, enjoyed it the first time but second time i feel will be better

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