Caged Angels
A glimpse,
A glimmer
Out of the corner of my eye.
A word.
A whisper.
Cherubim flicking the back of my mind.
Floating.
Flirting.
Get the net and catch ‘em,
Paste ‘em on a page.
2000
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Questioning Poets | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| No One Listens To Poets | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| I Still Use Pencil and Paper | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Unfinished mss | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| The Sculptor | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Writing Haiku | 1 | 05/28/2009 |
| Creative Writing | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| Caged Angels | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
| From Poet to Poet | 0 | 05/28/2009 |
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