Poets Garden

[jimharmon]

Poets Garden

I'm just a crusty ole soul

Who wants to see poets grow.

All I can do is plant the seeds

And see what pops up amongst the weeds.

Some will blosom

Others will wither away

Some are sweet clover

Others are just hay.

Like so much chaff in the wind

Some will die, others will win

It's what's inside that determins your fate

You either are or you are not

If a poetic soul is what you've got

Don't be afraid to answer the challenge

Express yourself with your best thoughts

After all words and thoughts are all you've got.

Express your thoughts, let us know

What will help your garden grow?

Sign up for Poetic Proliferation

Members Group, get inside the loop!

To all who read this:

I cancelled Poetic Proliferation because no one was PROLIFERATING!!!!!!!

If you want to sincerely participate in a situation that challenges your poetic soul and writing skills and help you grow in this craft. Please comment PM or in the open as to what you would like to see and do.

John and I want to provide a site that gives you more than just a venue to post your work and get a few kind or otherwise comments!

LET US KNOW....PLEASE!

Edited July 20, 2012 by jimharmon

[Mazrocon]

Nice invitation to the group Jim!

I enjoyed the continued metaphor, but especially this part

"Some will blosom

Others will wither away

Some are sweet clover

Others are just hay."

~TIMOTHY~

[psyve]

Jim, alas,

I guess I'm just grass

dry and withering...

perhaps this (click below) expains my dithering...

BLOCK AND TACKLE

© Cyrus Dali Vesuvala

And though the world is coming ‘round,

This old heart says I’ve sinned…

Sit here breaking no new ground,

I’m only breaking wind,

But, in the grand tradition,

I burn the midnight lamp,

And sit here, poised with pen in hand:

An imperious knight,

With a serious Writer’s Cramp…

With miles to go before I reach

The city of my dreams,

Where poets walk the streets and each

Writes poetry by the reams;

Yet, in the corner where I stand

The ticking of the clock

Reminds me, poised, with pen in hand,

Of a serious, mysterious Writer’s Block…

Words that do not flow, but mock

And add to all my fears…

How then shall I tame this block

And tackle all this passing of the years?

Forsaken by the living and

Mistaken for a rock,

I sit here, poised with pen in hand,

And a serious, mysterious Writer’s Block…

Edited May 2, 2012 by psyve

[jimharmon]

I feel the pain and know the symptoms all to well. You've done a great job with the recording.

Why not join us in PoeticProliferation and help me help others to reach new heights and feelings through song and poetry.

Go back and read my poem Writers Block

[psyve]

Read your poem, enjoyed it.

Know the feeling all too well though.

Thank you for the invitation to join you on PP.

Unfortunately, with my other comitments, I cannot currently commit to anything new that needs regular input or attention.

I look forward to seeing you here from time to time, though, if I may.

Cheers,

Psyve.

[jimharmon]

Thanks for the read.

Trying to encourage poets to participate and learn more about other forms of poetry.

[jimharmon]

PLEASE RE READ THIS INVITATION AND KINDLY RESPOND TO MYSELF OR JOHN

[writeandwrong]

I'm painfully allergic to writer's block...even typing those two words kills me!

Great poem, Jim!

[jimharmon]

So good response to the poem , but what about the question?