Garage Sale Poetry: Inspiration

Where does inspiration come from?

Garage Sale Poetry: Inspiration

 

 

                     I was heard in a baritone

                          Home grown and ample.

                             I was a grown folks portion

                                  Before I became a child’s sample.

 

                      Heard with appreciation

                            Often when he spoke.

                                Tasted with drink

                                   Inhaled with the smoke.

 

                        A sermon.

                             Laced with sweat and

                          aggravation..

                          An emotion.

                                  A heartbeat.

                        Not an echo fading away.

                        Pure pain or simple pleasure.

                           Apathy I was not.

                             Nor did I live in shades

                                of gray.

 

                        Traveling from soul to soul

                            Searching for like noise.

                          I could hear it.

                        Similar beats and rhythms

                          that carried the same spirit.

 

                        But many had become diluted.

                            Word base reconstituted.

                          Not poor, broke or hopeless.

                         But just plain polluted.

 

                           Rivers of words steady streaming.

                              Played by a thousand pie-eyed pipers.

                             Many words  with no meaning.

                                Lost in their own cipher.

 

                          Whether I was filtered thru aged wisdom

                                or a sudden experience.

                             I had a message.

                                  …I was a message.

                                I wonder who listens anymore.

 

                           I am all things

                                  and none.

                               Only pieces of

                                                      a sum.

                                  What you wonder…

                                   …that I am.

                                 What you think…

                                     … that I’ve become.

 

Reviews

[Lydia Shutter]

Our words are interchangeable with who we are....and yours certainly should not be sold in a garage sale...heresy!!! No way to know for sure who actually reads our words and who feels the words enough to take something away from the page. I choose to believe my words are worth something.....and yours are too, my friend. Lydia

[Robert Luna]

You have some very deep thought provoking words here my friend. I actually had to reread this as I lost myself in my own thoughts and lost my place. You know I enjoy being made to think about th world and life in general.

Wonderfully Done!!!!

[TL Boehm]

deep. deep. deep. I certainly wouldn't put it out in my garage sale - the words we send out - what happens to them - the inspiration savored and strong....becomes vapid, pale - as you said. polluted. and yet we are our words. what do we become.This is an amazing poem.