Words to Poet

Words to poet
Poet to rhyme
Syntax discovered
Time upon time

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Versing

When I find a word I like
I’ll caress it for a while
before committing it to verse
for pleasure and a smile

ALLITERATION ATTACK

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My Words
Will Always
Want To,
Play
Around

With Rhythms
And Rhymes
And Meaningful
Lines

Half empty/Half full

I blog at Megha’s World

WORD SNOWFLAKES

By Charles Robert Lindholm

Words Fall Down Upon Me
As Snowflakes From The Universe
Soaking Into My Soul
Capturing My Mind
Filling My Heart

Haiku: 2018-08-16

boats buttered, tender
satin deck to float the smile
words, on tongue’s oars

Image: 500px.com

I STRUGGLE TO WRITE IN CURSIVE

By Charles Robert Lindholm

A Simple
Thoughtless
And Automatic Act
When I Was Young
But Not Now
The Years
And Tears
Have Changed That

HE LEFT US A LEGACY

By Charles Robert Lindholm

It’s A Legacy  

He’s Left The World In His Words

Paul Lenzi, Poet

Copyright © 2018 Charles Robert Lindholm – All Rights Reserved
Please take some time and visit Paul’s Archive at Posey and Polemics

I am your words

I am your words
there for the taking
Sometimes accepted
other times not
Yet always captured
For I am yours
and always will be
To use as you will
and leave as you choose

Walnut

poetry-surreal-trees-walnut-writingasitcomes

Poetry dances me,
with its incorrigible vice.
In the beauty of silence
naked jawbones crack,
a fleshless shudder.

Wordsmith II

My pen touches paper
words turn to form
A poem appears
which for me is the norm
For I am a wordsmith
creative for those
who’ll read what I’ve written
in poem and prose

New Treasures

A pen and a poem
and in just a few words
By the hand of a poet
new treasures unfurled

Got a new pen

What once was Brighton’s bead shop
now sells stationary
Upmarket and pretentious
but good enough for me
For on a shelf, bright colours
a row of writing pens
So I just had to have one
as I do that now and then

Long weekends

The welcome of the long weekend
when sun is shining
And, with coffee in hand
I smile to the day and
realise that I am not working

Letting go

I have words in my hand
which I keep small
secretive, in case they fall

But sometimes when
the pace is slow
I’ll open up and let them go

Painting a poem

Today I sat and watched the sea
and the colour of the sky
and the water and the sand
and the pebbles on the beach
gave me my words

So I painted a poem

Life is colour

In summer life is colour
yellows, blues and greens
Reflecting all around me
and the palettes I have seen

Struggle

My pen is shaking

I am agitated

My notepad is topsy-turvy

With the struggle

I revere the most

In this bloomy air.

 

The confusion relies

On my pen

Am I writing sense

Where are the words

What come before

And after.

Strong

strong they said, as ivory on feet
strong they said, in marble
strong was the way to be

Spectacular II

Sitting in my garden
blank pages in my book
waiting for my words to fill
from everywhere I look
There’s inspiration ’round me
don’t have to look too far
as life is quite exciting
if not spectacular

Painting with words

When painting with words
the writing room floor
is splattered with cast-offs
from poems and more

Spoken

My words disappeared under the moonlight,
The sounds of dissipation fading fast
to quiet in a cavernous depiction,
a blank homage to the universal past.

I wanted.

I wanted to be your rain
As you are my sunshine
So we could make rainbows

I wanted to be the rock for you to lean on
In your times of smiles and tears
But little did I know, it’s use to crush my vows

Word’s Worth

What these words are worth
To those without eyes to read
Or chips in heads binaring what pens bleed?
Take time before it melts
To look,
To see,
To listen,
To hear
All the tiny things the earth
Wants
Unveiled
Record them, Poet!

Guidance

Thinking that I have written the best,

rolling my eyes for the appreciation.

 

The mentor was quietly observing the chapter,

the red lines indicated the trouble coming near by.

 

Taking a deep breath to control my nerves,

the words were flying in my head to make a bridge of thoughts.

 

THE WHISPERS OF MY MUSE

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My Muse
Whispers
Softly To My Soul
Reassuring Me Of Her Love
And Commitment

I’m everything

I’m dancing. I’m rhythm
I’m words on a page
I’m pen and I’m words
from a poet and sage

Fever dreams colour

When sleep falters
in fever drams
I think of colour