TRYING MY HAND AT POETRY

Admittedly, I'm not a poet. Hate writing poetry. Love reading it. Don't want anything to do with the composition of it.

However, the muse was in the house ... or I lost my mind ... or I inhaled one too many mold spores ... or the planets were out of alignment ... or something. Because, I've spent the last two nights filling my journal/writer's notebook with poetry. Go figure!

It's not good. In fact, I'm stepping out on a limb here and saying, it's really rather ... well, CRAP! However, as I tell my students, we've got to practice, practice, and practice in order to hone our writers' craft.

So here goes ... a sampling of the poetry written over the last few evenings ...

THOSE EYES OF YOURS

Those eyes of yours ...
I swim in their depths,
Longing to find their soul,
the source of their sparkle.

Those eyes of yours ...
I fall into them,
Believing they hold secrets
behind a veil of lashes.

Those eyes of yours ...
I want to know more,
Begging to be drawn in,
the pools so vivid blue.

Those eyes of yours ...
I want to see myself through them.
Mirroring your hopes and dreams,
my true self in those eyes.



A MASK

Silent ... oblivious ... emotionless ...
Unwilling to show the deeper parts?
A mask ...

Strong ... muscular ... sculpted ...
The soft, vulnerable self bubbling below the surface?
A mask ...

Kind ... gentle ... soft-hearted ...
A love beginning to bloom from a guarded heart?
A mask ... removed ...