Dave The Poet
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Post Title.

3/31/2011

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           Poet

I pick up a pen
And start to write
Early in the morn
Or late late at night
 
My guts I spill
Right on the page
Unlocking thoughts
From emotion’s cage

The words they come
Like an ocean’s tide
Capturing some
Of my life’s brief ride

Music of thoughts
Melody of  mind
Singing in ink
What talking won’t find

The poet’s gift
Is but his phrase
A filtered sift
Through common days

He fails to say
When face to face
What written rhyme
Can oft replace

Oh that time
Might catch a spark
That left unsaid
remains so dark

This is my gift
I don’t deny
To find out yours
You just must try!

David Kettler
3/30/11

   I arrived a half hour early for Aldeline’s funeral so I sat in the parking lot and wrote this poem. Who knows why? I just all of a sudden found the words coming and I started writing them down. One thing that is usually in common with the scenario of writing a poem is that I usually have to have some time available. That is why I write most of my poems at 5 or 6 in the morning. It’s quiet and I have an hour or two available to write. Most of the time I’m so tired at night after lifting batteries all day that I could barely write my name let alone anything else!      



 

 

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