Sonnet to Poetry
A Shakespearean lament
I’ve caught the poets virus - poetry
is pulsing my veins and I am bleeding
words everywhere most spilling out of me
On freeways at sixty miles while speeding
frantically I search for scraps of paper
not already bloody with poetry
I do a lot of eye movement and knee
driving while I get my fix to capture
perfect phrases like: Prone in surrender
Always night at the end of the tunnel
Knock on God’s door to open and enter
redolent thoughts left alone to funnel
future peccadilloes for my blood letting
diagnosed as mere symptoms of the disease
About the Creator
Jan Portugal
I love the adventure writing takes me on. I enjoy the idea of sharing them with an audience. I hope you enjoy my visions too.
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The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author6 days ago in Fiction
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