The Fount
Ready
Originally published in east to west bicoastal verse
If a poem is a gift, then
I should not come to this day
empty-handed,
If a poem is a song I
will clear my throat,
If a poem is a painting I will try
to find a subject that
interests someone besides me,
If a poem is an inheritance then
I will sit in the lawyer's waiting room,
If a poem is a fossil, then
I will fire up my backhoe,
If a poem is lightning I
have climbed to the roof with
a length of pipe,
If a poem is a beautiful woman I
have combed my hair and
put on a tie,
If a poem is rain I
have put out buckets and dishpans,
If a poem is a beautiful bird I
have strung fine net between the
trees,
If a poem is fire I
have kicked some crates into
kindling,
If a poem is death I
have given everything
away.
--Dave Morrison
When Words Just Flow
How good it is when words just flow,
Stark paper dark with fresh black ink.
I’m sad to say I’ve none to show.
My heart hides tales the world should know;
My mind is primed to find, to think.
How good it is when words just flow.
My fingers urge my pen to go--
Free pensive lines perched on the brink.
I’m sad to say I’ve none to show.
Sumptuous-Sorrow-Wondrous-Woe!
Sounds found to swirl around then link;
How good it is when words just flow.
I seek sleek terms that bask below;
Before I grasp, their meanings sink.
I’m sad to say I’ve none to show.
This verse, it warns I must forego
A villanelle’s beguiling wink;
How good it is when words just flow;
I’m sad to say I’ve none to show.
--Susan Jarvis
writing block saddens
my muse absent without leave
reward offered
--Sandra Dodd
My Muse
My muse is not a lady
No, he is a man
My muse is a man who haunts me
My muse is not a woman
Whom I would understand
My muse is a man who torments me
My muse is not like me
For I would set me free
My muse is a man who's possessed me
My muse is not imaginary
My muse is a man
As real - as tortured as I am
--Sonya Florentino
.
I am not a poet
I am not a poet, by any means.
I just thrive on spilled poetic beans.
I steal a metaphor from your eyes
to write a poem as the time flies.
I am not a poet, please know;
I tiptoe in as you rise to go.
I pick my ink from the shadows you left.
I am just a jack living on theft.
I am not a poet, I must tell.
I flick the pearls from your morning shell.
I am the one you are looking for,
but who I am, I am not too sure ..
I am not a poet, I must confess.
I am only a dream, but no less.
I breathe, I sing, I live on the edge.
I am the verse you threw over the hedge.
--Nikunj Sharma
About the poets:
Hailed as a "hearty weed in the garden of American poetry," DAVE MORRISON's work has been widely published in literary magazines and anthologies. After years of playing guitar in rock and roll bars in Boston and NYC, he currently resides in coastal Maine. Black Boat Black Water Black Sand, his fifth book, was recently published by Moon Pie Press.
SUSAN JARVIS lives in Bexleyheath, Kent, UK. Having studied recently for a BA in English Literature through the Open University, she is a member of the OU Poets' Society, with her poems appearing in their quarterly magazines as well as in the Daily Mail.
SANDRA DODD resides in Oregon. She started writing poetry spontaneously when a poem just came to her one day. She believes poetry is a vehicle for self discovery and pure entertainment. From the pen you cannot hide yourself.
"ORLANDO BELO" was born in Derby, England. Formerly an aircraft fuselage engineer, he now spends his time as an artist, novelist, poet and graphic designer.
SONYA FLORENTINO lives in New York.
NIKUNJ SHARMA lives in Mumbai, India.