My best poems are never written
They stay locked in my brain.
I want someone to invent a thought processor
To pick up my thoughts, as in my bed I lay.
At night in the dark, poems flash and flow
Rhythmically inside my mind.
But as soon as I try to capture them on paper,
Or when I try to speak them out loud
They have escaped, back into fogginess.
When I wake in the morning
It’s like they never where!
They have vanished as quickly as they came.
Please someone, I implore
A thought processor to record my poems
As they live.
TeAnne © Dec 26th .1998
Packed up the dishes and the pots
Packed up the sheets and the socks
Packed up the cutlery of knives, forks and spoons
Packed up the glassware, dresses and shoes
Packed up the blankets with naphthalene flakes
Packed up the albums, records' CD’s' and tapes
Packed up the computer, video and TV
Packed up things belonging to you and to me
Packed up the towels and all the bathroom things
Packed up the jewellery of broaches, pins and rings
Packed up all of the scattered mats
Packed up in a box, oops, I packed my cat!
Poor Sammy.
TeAnne © Dec.26th. 1998