It doesn't matter
What ranking I am
What matters the most
I've done the best that I can
I like writing my jibber
Creating new stuff
If you don't like them
I guess it is tough
It's not about numbers
It's not about rank
For liking my stuff
It's you that I thank
Without all my friends
And followers too
I would not have wrote this
I'd be taking a poo
Your feedback helps mort understand what's working
Genuine chatty man... Kik - madmorts
My poems are just doodlewords, They don't take long to write. I observe the world around me, By ear, by nose or sight. By then my brain has started, To note a line or two.
It's late at night. But I had an urge to write. Sometimes I get these itches. Ripping me like broken stitches. So I make a rhyme. To past the time. Or because words start to flow.
They say to write a poem you must always use your mind. So why do words just come to me when my mind is left behind. I go to sleep, or so I think, and then they rush inside my head.
#movement. ambling along. writing a song. a poem or a line. feeling fine. no need to rush. or speed as such. just up with the birds. choosing my words. i'll take my time. when i write a rhyme.
The brush, The canvas, Me. It's all, I want it, To be. The paint, The design, And I. The strokes, All perfect, To my eye. The pallet, The easel, The painter. The work, Getting darker; Getting fainter.
There's a sweet little symbol. At Opuss's core. It's on every post. And it always gives more. It's small and it's pewter. But it can be made yellow. So brilliantly simple. Yet warming and mellow.
If I do not keep on writing. Then the ink will seep within. Causing an inner struggle. Solved only by the pen. The notebook is my body. And the folds create my heart. But without my muse.
The thing about Opuss that makes me smile the most, Is the fact that wherever I go there could be someone I know.
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