Appalachia

Appalachia

Crack me open

Mine me

Refine me

And distill me on down

I am

The big forest

Across the humpback path

Aching in the wind

Full of creaks

Loosely organized

Stand of giant trees

I am

The frog swelling up

Splatting through the water

Tongue hidden

Lumpy clumsy

Roly poly

Fatso

I am the heron

Neck wrenching

Funny legged

Weak gray

Winged birdie

Fly away

Home

I am the ginormous rock formations

Hanging high

Held by tree root

Perching precariously

Crashing rolling

Bolder(s)

Stone mountain

I am the rushing water

Filling the gorge

Appalachian mist

Rising

Tinkling rain

I am song

I am light

I am a moonlit night

Nature’s tresses

Wooded bosom

All creatures’ womb

Appalachia I am.

Writer's Block

On Frittering Away Time

A writer is an expert

On frittering away the time

Anything except

Commitment to the verse and rhyme

Stay away from muses

Paper and the pen

And cultivate excuses for the malaise to start

again.

Writer’s block-it’s got me

Tied up in a ball

Stymied once again

Oh shoot-my back is to the wall!

My thoughts, they are a vapor

Flying to the air

When they are gone I am not sure

If there are many more to spare…

I’ll cultivate a phobia

Or a neurotic flair

What if I put on my scarf

Or take a walk up there?

No! I’ll create a heroine

And she can take my place

Deciding which verse to keep

And which to, of course

Erase.

Anything except to face

Myself

(And audience alike…)

To delve way down deep

Where my secrets sleep

And grant to them, a life.

(Copyright K.A.P. 2011)

Morning...

Morning draws nigh-
exciting the senses
Like a long, cool drink.
Jolting the eye
and exuding life
to all it
touches.

Each soul
has the capacity
to be lifted higher
by the
newness
that the morning light
proffers...
Lift. Surge
and higher, still.
Find new wings,
ignite the will.
Such are the thoughts that flutter by on the wings of
the morning.
(Delude yourself no more...)
The morning belongs to the brave.