My poems are my mind trying to process,
to capture a feeling, a moment,
to take a Polaroid snapshot,
to paint a picture,
to frame an abstract work of art,
to translate something inexplicable
into a language I can understand.
My poems are my speaking aloud,
the ordered words of the chaos
bouncing around my head,
like a ball on a roulette wheel.
I’m going all in, but who knows where
it will land, the wheel is still spinning.
My poems are my taking for a walk
the black Labrador of my imagination,
across unchartered fields,
with stormy skies overhead,
I throw a stick for the dog and walk on.
My poems are talking to myself,
arguing, debating, laughing, rambling on,
whistling along to the tune in my head,
but you know what they say,
it could be verse.