Fear not the poet.
What’s the most they can do with a pen?
They can cheer you, entertain you,
then just sadden you soon after?
Oh, they can tickle you?
*a meta wink
Fear not the poet.
What’s the most they can do with a pen?
They can cheer you, entertain you,
then just sadden you soon after?
Oh, they can tickle you?
*a meta wink
Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee, there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.
I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.
I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.
Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.
The author
A poem on the go…
Does it know where it is supposed to go?
…
It must do so for it is no go relying on my guidance.
…
Just go for it, poem, whatever you are up to.
I Hope the pen doesn’t run out of ink soon.
Run, pen, run.
I hope I don’t run out of gas.
Run, poet, run.
You know, this pen lives a life of its own.
Yet it bleeds to death if need be.
In turn, the paper accept what is.
That is ever requited love, that love of craft.
The love of self (the poet), the muse might very well reject.