Thank you (A Gratitude Poem)

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

poetry

Thank you for looking
and reading
and seeing
into my soul
into my heart.

Thank you for living
and laughing
and loving
with me
around me
and far from me.

Thank you for being
the person you use to be
who made you to the person you are
and is pushing you to be the person you will be.

Thank you for viewing
and supporting
visiting and liking
what I do
who I am
and how I do things.

Thank you.

Here is a fast but from the heart poem. Let me know what you think and if you are reading this, this poem is for you. I am truly grateful for every person who follows me and every view. 

I hope you have a wonderful day and let me know what you think. 

At the Windmill (a poem)

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

poetryThere is a little cafe near my house that I believe I am becoming a regular at. Today I went by myself and had breakfast. I decided to write a little as I waited. This is one of the poems I wrote while enjoying their food. It really is a great place.

With painted wall,

warm and inviting

art hangs welcoming guest

saying be who you are

do what you will

and enjoy the good that is served

 

With the sky on the ceiling

bright and pleasing

curtains hang to welcome guest

saying come near or far

do what you will

and enjoy the food that is served

 

So I write and dream

sitting in the corner so I can watch

the couples eat

The students study

and an other lone female reading the paper

I sit, watch and writing

doing what I will

and enjoying the food that is served.

Writing Process (a free verse poem)

by tiffanymy creative self, PoetryPosted on No Comments

poetry

Poetry comes out
with my eyes closed
when sleep in near;
brilliant poems flow
when paper is far
and repeating is not enough.
Wisdom and intelligence overwhelm me
when the only outlet is to speak it to myself
or when no one is listening.

Yet when I open my eyes
words fly away
like fading dreams they fly.
The poetry inside is trapped
like a rat in a house unable to be freed
as soon as the paper is in reach.
I open my mouth when some is around
and only babble spews out.

So I write with my eyes closed,
freeing my poems from the paper trap
and write when no on is around
with the quiet of my mind.