The Poet And I Poem by BOEMS BY JA WIZDUMBs BY JA

My simple words are like scratches on a flat desolate rock, that no one else will ever see
Yours, intricate words, engraved on shinny granite, a monument, to what poetry should be

My expression, tortured streams of vowels; begging to be saved, drowning in the seas
While your verses, paint a lush green landscape; with exploding blooms, from cherry trees

My scrawls fill no heart, cause no soul to soar, to such heights;
that they are then set free
Yet you, with a stroke of a quill, open up our eyes, to scene's of beauty; akin to ecstasy

Could I but collect your words, brushed aside, discarded;
judged unworthy in your poetry
And use them as my own, your scraps would be my treasure;
and this would be my plea

That each night, while your poesy, flows sweetly through my mind;
they be set to my memory
So when I wake, I remember, all those lofty words, and that they came; from inside me
BOEMS BY JA 536