Place to rhyme

My best words it seems flow freely

when the small hours take a hold

when everything is quiet

and my pen does what it’s told

Relays the words I want to say

about the things I’ve done

about what I am feeling

when I’m happy or I’m glum

Poem found

I found a good word
which would make a good start
at the front of a poem
of which it was part

So I placed it right there
and thought of the rest
and the spaces they’d fill
where they’d look their best

And when it was done
and the order was sound
I read the words back
of the poem I’d found

HER WORDS DANCED

A TRIBUTE TO MAYA ANGELOU
By Charles Robert Lindholm

Her Words Danced
Off The Page
And Made My
Heart Sing

THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG

THE MAGIC OF OUR SONG
By Charles Robert Lindholm

I Was Drawn
Back Into Childhood Memories
As I Listened To The Wind
Whispering Through The Trees

A PRICELESS GIFT

A PRICELESS GIFT
By Charles Robert Lindholm

The applause of the world
dies away
and is forgotten

ALLITERATION ATTACK

By Charles Robert Lindholm

My Words
Will Always
Want To,
Play
Around

With Rhythms
And Rhymes
And Meaningful
Lines

Spinning words

Sought after, captured
the words like a star
Precious like diamonds
and seen from afar
Nurtured and fashioned
committed to pen
falling to page
to ponder and then
when story is told
and deed it is done
the poet can rest
from the words he has spun

Words Waiting

I am an early hour
when the quiet of night
shouts loud
and a pen hovers
heavy over virgin sheets
with words waiting

Beautiful words

The beauty of words
Ones so full of meaning
To capture the essence
Of life so endearing
The palette of poets
To paint and to capture
And bring to the reader
The joy to enrapture

Never Contrite

The problem with writing
So far in advance
Is the tine to catch up
Or not with a chance

And the capture of moments
Which by the time that they see
The cold light of day
Is a vague memory

But it’s a very small problem
To have so I’ll cope
And keep publishing them here
Knowing well that you’ll cope

Bussokuseki week III (Tuesday)

3 of 7

So Tuesday is here
and my week is well started
and now in full swing
But first of a morning here
some time to spend with my words
for they are friends to cherish

©Jemverse

As a tree

1 of 3 in the ‘Tree’ series  from Jemverse

Though I am a poem
I am often as a tree
spreading wide my branches
to the winds and fancy free
Sometimes I am majestic
growing strong and very tall
and other times I’m minuscule
insignificantly small

The middle of the book

I’ve reached the middle of my book
these little friends of mine
carried with me whence I go
and with me for a time

Scribblings out and jottings too
the scratching of my pen
there to capture all the words
at happenstance and when

Lost to time passing

In a small corner I curl
turning pages, I am lost to imagination
oblivious to time passing
minutes meld to hours
And this time is mine
Absorbing words from far away minds
Caught in that beautiful moment
when words caress my soul
with a comfort wholly realised

Seven days revisited #7 (Sunday)

Sleeping
Underneath a
Nice
Duvet
Awaken early?
You wouldn’t, would you?

Seven days revisited #6 (Saturday)

Saturday
Arrives and
Tiredness fades
Until
Refreshingly
Diminished
Another week of
Yesterdays pass

Seven days revisited #5 (Friday)

Finally with
Relief
I
Descend into
Another weekend with a welcoming
Yell!

Seven days revisited #4 (Thursday)

Thankful for this
Hour
Unusually given
Resplendent
Sunshine
Deepens my resolve
And I
Yearn no more

Seven days revisited #3 (Wednesday)

Whimsically
Erudite, I’ve
Decided
Now that
Everything
Simply
Depends
As always on
Yellow

Seven days revisited #2 (Tuesday)

Totally
Undecided in
Early morning
Sunshine
Dawns
And I’m still
Yawning

Seven days revisited #1 (Monday)

Meanwhile here another week
Onward takes me
New
Despite
Another weekend passed
Yesterday somehow

Lassait Faire

Now with December in full fling
the year draws to a close
a decade ending in two weeks
swiftly the time it goes
Twenty twenty vision clear
I wonder, will that be
when in a fortnight New Year comes
I guess we soon will see

My little book

I’m down to the last few pages
in this little book of mine
It’s done me proud since April
which is really quite a long time

And over two hundred poems
written and drafted in here
some over several pages
when their syntax wasn’t that clear

Miles Melting

And as I travel metal sings
cocooned here in the warmth
night passes swift outside
where winter chill escapes me

Slumber beckons but I resist
taking pen to paper instead
I while away time passing
as the miles melt away

How many words?

How many words written
goodness only knows
It must be in the millions
with the poems and the prose
that all these years I’ve written
ever since I was a lad
Some words to cover sadness
but most to cover ‘glad’

The small hours II

Here in this silence
With the quiet patter of gentle rain
the small hours while
and my pen scratches

Slumber beckons but temporarily eludes
So I with quiet resolve
capture the mood with words
flowing as the night deepens

The Poet’s Pen

Never still the poet’s pen
always a verse to find
be it one that comes from life
or like this one, from the mind

Never still the poet’s pen
creativity abounds
cathartic is the rhythm
those pen to paper sounds

Never still the poet’s pen
for there’s so much to say
captured in a few short lines
and posted by the day

Something I do

It’s been said before
but my pen can’t keep still
as I write every day
on a whim and a will
Words about life
I see around me
and the things that I do
and the world that I see