Some Poems Poem by Krakatoa Kritic 007

Some poems' births explode (full bore) , life ends when written down,
their flow makes toothpicks of my pen, brain chokes on truth laid bare,
a flash that flares, a splash of cognac in cook's pan (taste's light!)
While others grow more leisurely, gestation delicate,
they lead me through more sylvan glens (where shadows live - a thing)
and beams of light dance as leaves drift until thoughts' breeze gets spent.

I covet both but give free rein to muse that pays day's rent
for fear I'll miss a gift life shares, perchance a golden ring!
I rarely guess a poem's end; I'm more its advocate
and track my muse the best I can until day's touched by night!
My heart is this, to offer grace to fancies muse may dare
embrace, hold dear. Lord, I feel blessed to be my muse's clown.


Krakatoa Kritic #007
December 7,2022