kitty the naughty poet


Poetry seeds the mind,
in seductive arcs of syllables,
singing poems of love and lust,
an infatuation with the written word,
spoken sonnet,
even gestures with eyes,
enlightened by hands that speak,
chorusing news of hidden treasures.

tonite I read your poetry
and filled up deep inside
time and again my tears fell
at thought of things I write
sometimes so sorrowful
and oft I think im pleased
but here in tears of all your feelings
l im like a void inside
I know I feel the passion
to show my world inside
but your pain your colours
your verve and lust
overpowers how I write
but nonetheless I cannot stop
I have to let this out
its here in me and it needs to be
outside and cast about
for in my street and in the store
you'll never see what's me
until I open up my shelf
and you read my poetry

Poetry is the harvest of many thoughts and gestures
We tend to reap what we so,but words are mere
Words if no action is taken
Poetry is the roses in my mind. The colors. The smell.
I pick the ones I want to present to you as a gift.
Sometimes sad, sometimes happy. Poetry is
The vehicle that drives my emotions and I/we present it to the world.

Poesy, our beloved
is ever a gift contrite
for whomever dares to ink
does so with ambition's meek
for it be novelist's and playwrights
that earn daily praises and applause
we but few, would be poet's
do but phrase our gleaned insight's
with all eloquence we can muster
in our weaved words of hope, knowing
at best a handful full may read
and even less, understand
what we so desperately
wish, to convey and depict succinct...

Poetry? A FEELING into a thought
a THOUGHT into WORDS that best describe the

Poetry is now, unbonded by time, it grows in the depth of our hearts and enlightens our minds; it's the unsung sing of a sullen tale_ a poets weapon as love prevails.

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