A poetry pulsation Callused laymen hands, Dirtied with oil and grime,Sharpen the pencil,To whittle out rhyme,Carving a cadence,Humming whilst hewing,Fashioning fiction,From words that I’m chewing,The pulsing of my blood,Life of my art – I nurse, Untrained, unweaned, on the teat of poetic verse,Style and form adorns,A contemporary rune, Scratching out lettering, Syllables scattered and strewn,AsContinue reading “Folk Heart”
Poetry, and other thoughts, by Darius the Mate
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