Metapoem
Where do I start?
The title came to me and
I thought it was near brilliant
Do I have the words to qualify?
I can’t force a poem
They are their own creations
that somehow find their way into my heart and mind
For some it is a melody
For others it is a color, a pencil, a palette, a canvas
Or a carving, a sculpture, a molding, a mixture
Movement, rhythm and body create dance
Wood, stone, glass and bricks build a home
I hear my heart
I paint my mind
I mold my soul
I dance on a page
with the words that build my poems
Capture a moment I may never experience again
I discover myself in my poems
I create myself in them too
They are not mine only
They are meant to be shared
April Murdock
10.8.06
Where do I start?
The title came to me and
I thought it was near brilliant
Do I have the words to qualify?
I can’t force a poem
They are their own creations
that somehow find their way into my heart and mind
For some it is a melody
For others it is a color, a pencil, a palette, a canvas
Or a carving, a sculpture, a molding, a mixture
Movement, rhythm and body create dance
Wood, stone, glass and bricks build a home
I hear my heart
I paint my mind
I mold my soul
I dance on a page
with the words that build my poems
Capture a moment I may never experience again
I discover myself in my poems
I create myself in them too
They are not mine only
They are meant to be shared
April Murdock
10.8.06
