In the scrapbook of a poets mind
there lies a photo.

A Landscape of words
that shines like sun
calling one to scribe.

Sometimes sunny scrapbook
burns
releasing painful memories
needing to be written
for peace.

Other times it’s
bright
beaming down a rainbow
of beauty.
flying like a butterfly
needing to be free.

Scrapbook contains
endless pages
to glance at
when posted or printed
in book form.

It's a gift
handed over by poet to reader.
Come gander at a poem.

For...A poem a day keeps the doctor away.

Sometimes short and sweet conquers long inside a poem.
It is up to the writer to take aim with sword like pen,
and reader to take aim with eye.

I am a tall multifaceted sided top.
Turning in moment.
Twirling with my pen spinner.

There is inner glow that shines
were each side is infused with words.

When I land on one side
A sad poem may emerge
where emotions are felt.

If the side falls on a smile
a poetic song laced with rhyme
Surfaces.

I never know what side will emerge
on any given day or moment.

I never know but ever poem is a gift
A window of self
ready to share.  

Sometimes another poet will turn me
and inspire with their words.

Guess relatives can call me
a chocolate dreidel
filled with sweet or bitter poems.

.
Wouldst thou not gaze again 'pon this humble fool?
For 'tis his script that doth countenance histories,
hence future repeats be 'pon his wither and whim,
thou shouldst see twice his story woven sisterlies.

Wouldst thou not read more of this humble fool?
Mayhap his words doth soothe thy enquiry,
his want and wander leadeth to a contentment,
thou shouldst not ignore content of ye Fool's Diary.

Wouldst thou not focus true 'pon this humble fool?
Perchance his poems doth resonate sweetness unbound,
pray do a'linger and a'loiter 'pon his fancy delicacies,
thou shouldst taketh thy fill of love and wisdom found.



© Pagan Paul (22/04/19)