Poetic Shutterbug

Ocean Beach in San Francisco Compliments of Nature We'd compliment each other You and I As stars adorned evening skies Light transcended beyond darkness Hope became truth Friendship ripened Love was ours The sun rose upon your smile And set within your eyes We complimented each other You and I For a while

This is a guest post by poet Robin Delaney. I'd like to thank her for her gorgeous photo and poetry. The Mask A thousand masks I wear yet none of them are me for I am buried deep within afraid for you to see Far below the surface beneath the layers deep my soul cries out in sadness and mournful tears I weep I lost myself so long ago and somewhere along the way I learned the art of pretense like chameleons at play Secrets are my game assuming a new face concealed by my deception you think me a disgrace Yet I long for you to find me to hear what I can't say to listen to my heartsong and love me anyway But there is no magic kiss nor knight upon a steed strong enough to penetrate the better part of me

Me with my poet pose :) The Poet In Me I’ve been known to be inspirations flowing through my veins energy of the muse. The word interpreter , I breathe metaphors and paint pictures with lyrical destinations on blank maps. The voracious reader , I’ve heard my voice astounding thunderclaps in rudimentary dreamscapes and rebellious realism. The doubtful visionary , I’ve spoken silent affirmations in unknown languages understanding the future. The anti critic , I’ve sold not my soul for a good review accepting the bad as the challenge it is. The poetic archivist , I’ve known what was read to be reiterated in past anthologies. The unknown author , I speak through my words which speak for themselves and resound in you while residing in me. The validated versifier , I proclaim the passionate poetess in me speechless!

A Writer At Heart Words emotional expressions inherent deep within spirit. Passion are these words undeniably expressed, shared, proclaimed in stanzaic precision. The writer sensitive, intuitive feelings arise, awaken born from within depths of the soul. A soul unknown if not for their words. Ego revisited firmly understood and happily embraced. The writer paints words with a knowing of authentic self creatively expressed. Memories, dreams parade the mind as streaming videos. These visual scenarios breathe life into the heart and have no choice but to be reborn. Reflections a glimpse into the heart where the writer resides words a mirror to the soul. A soul which lives within the mind without fear. The heart pumps words through the veins never missing a beat. And the writer writes to a different beat only he hears.

I have come across so many poets who tell me that they have hundreds of poems that they have written yet have never done anything with them. The poems are kept in boxes or folders and left there never to be born much like a bird in a cage never to be set free. The comments I hear are “they are just too personal for me” or “No one would understand them.” Let’s take a look at each argument. They are just too personal. As writers everything we write has a personal element to it and as poets we express our deepest thoughts and feelings by writing these personal words. I’m not saying you have to dust off those poems and start submitting them for publication but to leave them grow old and unseen to me is a grave mistake. What you have to realize is that because they are so personal and drawn from life experience, by showing them to the world you may just help someone else. The second argument “No one will understand them." Understanding poetry has nothing to do with trying to ...