a poet?

a poet, I?
or merely
deluded
when judged
by snobbish
Academia
one cannot be
a proper poet
without years of study
without published works
without knowing every inch
of poetic theory and meter
so I am not a poet
just a person
who writes words
in such a way
as may be
misconstrued
as poetry

I want to write a poem…

I want to write a poem
about love and happiness
but it just comes out cheesy
like an eighties pop song
I want to write a poem
to express this feeling
when I look at you and feel your smile
wrapping round my soul
I want to write a poem
about the simplest of things
like holding hands and walking
spotting birds and flowers
I want to write a poem
to say how precious you are
how this “ewe and me” time
is my longed-for reward each week
I want to write a poem
about how happy and loved I feel
how everything that’s past is fading
how you fill me up and make me new
I want to write a poem …

word space

sometimes

   words need space

to breathe

    to savour each 

                         d e l i c i o u s
                                                       droplet

sometimes

  they come out 
        in-a-rush
                stumbling over 
                         themselves
                                   tripping over 
                                            each other 
                                                      in a hurry to be heard

in this space

         my words are free

                    to be themselves

to flow with my

                                 mood
                                     swings

                                                                                to
                                                                     disobey
                                                               the
                                                       laws
                                                  of
                                          physics
                                   and 
                             flow
                 backwards

                                           if they want to

or sit neatly
in a row
if it fits

Inspired by the Weekly Writing Challenge: Playing with Space

poetry in the air

the air
round here
is thick with poetry
seeping out from down beneath
preserved within the coldest depths
years of ancient druid verses
sunk into the stones and soil
you could touch a rock and feel it hum with words unsaid

this land is poetry

Creu Gwir fel gwydr o ffwrnais awen
In These Stones Horizons Sing

(the inscription on the Wales Millenium Centre in Cardiff)