Feeding The Needs.

It came to me 
at a very tender age 
bringing smiles 
beyond description, 
like the first taste 
of chocolate 
it was 
my hunger for words.

I quickly devoured 
the usual fare 
"Winnie the Pooh" 
"Harold and his 
Purple crayon" 
"Pippi Longstocking" 
But then my 
eyes were opened 
to the Knowledge 
of married words .

Words so 
full of rhythm 
and rhyme, 
the coupling 
of emotions 
into a train 
of thoughts, 
packed with memories 
which I took a ride on, 
after I had just 
completed 
"Now We Are Six." 
by A.A. Milne .

Suddenly I needed 
a typewriter 
reams of paper 
a jar of # 2 pencils 
an eraser, and some 
inspiration.

But I lived in 
the projects 
so I found the 
inspiration 
all around me 
as I 
worked with 
some pencil stubs 
and scribbled my 
juvenile thoughts 
on paper bags.

Collecting pop bottles 
to save money 
to buy paper. 
it was a struggle 
but I was 
feeding the need.

As I grew my 
poetry expanded 
as well 
into a collection 
of books 
songs, love letters 
and propaganda 
to try and change 
the world .

But the books 
sat silently 
gathering dust 
the songs were sung 
but their melodies lost 
unrecorded.

The love letters 
brought love 
but eventually 
letters of farewell 
would follow, 
like sad puppy dogs 
behind me 
and the world 
stubbornly 
remained unchanged, 
but I had fed the need.

Now near the middle 
of my years 
of writing 
my passions 
and despairs, 
"The words they

come to me!!" 
like baby birds 
with their mouths 
agape in awe, 
hungry.

Waiting for a bookworm 
from the fields of poetry 
just a tiny tidbit 
to treasure and digest.

They also sit in

coffeehouses 
cranked on caffeine 
sucking smoke 
addicted to nicotine 
and scribbled thoughts 
as I expose myself 
verbally to 
the huddled masses.

Listeners who

snatch at thier 
favorite pieces 
and show favor 
in birdlike ways, 
a peck on my cheek, 
a claw extended 
towards mine, 
a whistle or two 
and I suddenly 
realize I've taken 
flight from 
my humble nest 
so many years ago.

I've spread my wings 
and soared, 
I've touched the sky 
and though I long 
to reach beyond 
my limited boudaries 
the earth still calls me 
back to it's roots.

Back to the demands 
of the word-starved 
souls who track my flight .

There are ears to fill, 
hearts to touch, 
hopes to raise, 
eyes to wet, 
tears to dry, 
needs to feed, 
and so I feed the need 
and gain sustenance 
from my need to feed.

Floating on the smiles 
beneath my wings.