A Poet’s Gift


I never learned how to behave

I break every rule that will not bend

Never liked the road well traveled and paved

I’ll keep right on walking when the pavement ends


Sometimes I turn my notebook sideways

Just to prove I do not have to write on the lines

The road signs on my mental highways

Are doodles, driftwood, and silly rhymes


An artist is not made of metal or bone

Who’s strength will break in a mighty wind

We are made of trees that bend and storms that moan

Through pages and canvass we revel in


Like a galleon tossed on stormy seas

We ride each swell like a seasoned sailor

With pen or brush bring you to your knees

Or patch your heart like a tender tailor


I have sailed and burned, laughed and cried

On pages, and to the sea

To bring the secrets my eye has spied

And every poem is free


So to the aching one, in silent yearning

I will bring sweetly, sunny prose

To those dancing by the light of bridges burning

A rock song I will compose


So you may rage and holler, laugh or weep

To find your answers here

The secrets are not mine to keep

I whisper them in your ear


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