Poetry comes from a little spark
Words slowly light to full flame
Growing larger until a poem takes shape.
The flame will settle down
Words burn within at last
To last for all to read.
Poetry is also kneaded through it folds
Taking shape to different forms
To create a creation worth eating.
Each bite worth the words to hear
Rhyming and metaphors abound within
The nooks and crannies pack with lines abound.
Within my soul my poetry comes
Slowly one word; a phrase
Stirs me to write a poem.
I sometimes see a poem take shape
Lines forming weaving across my mind
That is when I write my poetry down.
Timing perfect for tan train
It was trimming minutes off schedule
It rolled in whistle rang loudly
Lumbering gait of passenger cars
In trim mint condition from money grant
Grind wheels to halt at main gate
I ran with a grin hoping to see
The man with his giant art collection
Set up his rig of art on large mat
To browse, to buy
But he, Martin did not appear
For in the air was smell of rain
April 20th Prompt: Write a poem using as many words within the word “immigrant” as you can find, such as in, grant, rant, grin, imam, I’m, aim, trim, migrant, train and tram.
Eye wright these lines today
As some poet comprising a poem
Which will loose it’s flare
Duel porpoise eye will make
This poem is a laugh
For those whose listening
Too this crazy exorcise
One must right today
Note: This poem will make sense if you say it out allowed (I mean aloud).