Poetry Defined

What is Poetry?

Poetry is the sparkle in the toddler’s eye,

The songbird’s song, and it’s need to fly,

It’s the emotion of the day, without fear,

It is the calm before the rainbows suddenly appear,

Poetry is the cork in the bottle that’s about to pop,

It is the bright red cherry sitting right on top,

Poetry is a solitude that has to be shared,

An inner dwelling of strength with nothing compared,

It is above judgement or critique,

It is what it is; the heart must speak,

The thoughts are genuine, individual and real,

Poetry expresses what I feel,

It’s a mirror to the soul, an image in time,

Which is why I like to write words in rhyme,

Poetry is the icing on the 7-tiered cake,

It is a work of art that anyone can make,

It is a painting done without the paint,

It is creativity without constraint,

A mood, a tone, like musical notes,

Transferable, much like famous quotes,

Poetry is the sparkle in a toddler’s eye,

The songbird’s song, and it’s need to fly.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  8/8/2018

Empty Cup

Numb

I seem to be in a writing lull,

My ideas:  they are quite dull,

I have writer’s block, I think it is called,

I am frustrated and very appalled,

I need to sharpen my poem-writing ax,

I need to split hairs, and that’s a fact,

I want to create, but my mind is hollow,

There are no instructions or recipe to follow,

Words generally flow like water from a well,

From my heart to my head, almost too fast to spell,

But nowadays I am speechless, muted: the well has run dry,

I can’t write my poetry, though I try, and I try,

It’s a gift that is wrapped and I’m ready to open it up,

I need to refill my imaginary cup,

It is healing to write, and I need to heal,

Numb is the word that describes how I feel.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  8/7/2018

You can't pour from an empty cup.

On a Speedway going Nowhere

Rambling On

I have so many thoughts inside my head,
So many words that could be said,
My mind is spinning like a child’s toy top,
I try to shape my thoughts, but the top won’t stop,
The perpetual motion keeps me from thinking clearly,
I need to sort out my words to express myself sincerely,
A racing mind puts me on a speedway track,
Running at high speed with no turning back,
It’s frustrating, exhausting, and highly confusing,
Almost laughable, but not at all amusing,
It’s the beginning of something that has no ending,
An infinity sign, a path I am not recommending,
When will the checkered flag wave? When will my mind come to rest?
My thoughts are going east, and my thoughts are going west,
If my mind were an egg, I’d say it is scrambled,
Thus, this poem has developed, where I have rambled and rambled.

Tammy Harvey
Written: 7/23/2018 

A Guest Poet (my Dad)

This poem was written by my Dad many years ago, but I still remember all the words.

The Lamplighter

I met a stranger in the night,

His light had failed to shine,

He passed, and lit his light from mine,

Then a storm came that night that shook the world about,

And when it all had ceased, it was my light that was out,

Back the stranger came, his lamp was glowing fine,

He had preserved his precious flame,

The lamp he lit was mine.

John Paschal