Where My Creative Passion Goes: Free Verse

Each day
I read,
get aroused
or excited
or perplexed
or disgusted
or saddened,
and I write.

I shout
out
to the wind,
to the sun,
to the moon,
stars,
planets.

I scream
out
to the woods
and fields
and lakes
and creeks.

I think
outloud,
and express it,
as though my words
and thoughts
might actually
be read,
might actually
make a difference.

Who am I fooling?

Social media
is not my pulpit.
It is not my op-ed page.
It is a place
for me to respond,
react,
rant,
and write
drivel.

It is a waste of my time,
my talent,
what I’m blessed with.

I need to change.

Her Keyboard Versus Mine: Free Verse

How I wish my fingers
in the evening flowed
like the creek,
like wind through the trees,
like a late summer’s gentle rain,
like the deepening orange-red sunset,
like the darkening eastern sky,
like her fingers dancing
across the 88 black-and-white keys,
like the music she creates
swirling and ebbing and dancing
out her door,
across the porch,
through the grass and leaves.

Instead, my fingers
bang bang clickety-clackety
across black keys
with white symbols,
creating not beautiful sounds
but only words
I hope will ebb and flow
and move.

If they are read.

Otherwise, that obnoxious
clickety-clackety noise
is the only sound
the peaceful evening will get
from my flying fingertips.

#NotaContest