What Of This Poetry?
What of this poetry I write, now focus shifts to others –
Like fellows in the cancer walk, friends, colleagues, siblings, mother?
To say the least for work ahead and those who'll walk my journey,
’Till me they carry out and plant, last trip for me in gurney.Once more I hear, “Eight hours a day – a step in pix creation –
You can your words convey as well in English or Cree Nation
Your poems capture inner thought from right-brain store of plenty,
Then from each poem pictures make – if it be one or twenty.“Just strip the essence of the each work, translate it, re-present it,
In other form, or other view, or both, lest they resent it.
The point is this – My life to give as I pour through your Spirit
To others as their journeys walk with you on this your planet.“First drafts these are – no purpose lies in record of the moment,
But rather walk the planet o’er – it's all out there – just roam it;
Perk up your ears, alert your eyes, each sense alive and working;
’Till overflowing from your heart, the pictures from this perking.“Thus out from you will be the pictures pointed by that fellow
Who sees the way but walks it not, yet guidance gives quite mellow.
It means that words and pictures meld in some new bright concoction
’Till life explodes out on the page – exchanged in silent auction.”navigation