Written for NaPoWriMo day eleven :and posted to Saturday Scribesand Monday Poetry Train RevisitedMY SECRETI go to my secret place
in the poetry garden
not many people know this
but you know all my secrets
anyway so it’s okay
my poetry patch really
where I grow poetic things
my favourite are the weeds
I cultivate them ad hoc
in my mind, but they grow theirs
naturally as nature goes
sometimes I will cut an edge
perhaps prune a word or three
mostly I just watch things grow
climb up the poet tree
and sit atop the branches
where the fairies swing is tied
to watch them mirror dancing
(they only tire at sunset)
when I come back down to earth
this is the poem that wrote itself
it told me to write it down like this
making monkey mayhem funky madness
sitting up the poet tree writing down
every word that she whispers to me
the secret of the ages of the rings
the way the wordy wordy wordy sings
and everything she brings from where she comes
and where she goes nobody really knows
she recites her wordy words to my world
and my world doesn’t hear a thing she says
(the wind blows her words whispering to me)
she sister
she secret
society
she says silently – hoping I can hear
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