The Poet

 

So named and justly so by his brethren,

his dress of words that live deeply in a mind

that longs release from all his pain, to gain

respect not disgust from his shabby dress.

 

In his lonely hours he penned words so fluently,

that flowed so effortlessly from his quill left

still, in feathered peace beside his bed.

 

His ordered verse came smoothly, with

a rhyme or two, left over from the chilled

cold air left in his chamber silent and poorly

lit from lonely hours spent there.

 

Upon his page he lingered often, with

harsh industry and strife, while his veins

pulsated and his eyes would fill with

sudden tears from a heart so bled.

 

Why, he pleaded should my eyes be

so red, to touch my heart, to open your

own eyes to overflowing joy or dread

 

I set forth with drowsy thoughts of

summer days, I say let my lips, wet

with emotion and passionate thrill

all who want to listen to me, still pass

my thoughts of lofty songs and words,

before they flee and fly away from

me, lost forever like a moth on wing,

fluttering in my candle light.

 

With pen afire I seduce each word

uttered and summon back at will my

thoughts of yesterdays, gone by with

crude lines I feared then as a boy, yet

now I glow and mend with rapture and

saving grace, impassioned every thought

and felt from my soul.

 

Translucent like the beauty of our earth,

I write the words inspired me in wonder

and delight,feeling calmly the might

of my quill, I slightly tap its feather under

chin and grin content, I sweep the dust

away from my scribe to lay it gently on

 

it’s side to be read in the morning glow,

as I rest my weary head upon my desk,

I listen to the tempest sing a lullaby so

sweet, I cling and fall to sleep

at last to dream.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved.

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

15 thoughts on “The Poet

  • August 11, 2017 at 5:57 PM
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    Vincent,

    Gorgeous! I wish I had written this…lol.

    This is beyond beautiful, (which is why I am waiting for a postal order of a Thesaurus that I just ordered. I know I should already have one, but I do not…yet, but soon).

    Your poetry speaks with such depth of emotion and evokes such incredible feelings within myself, as if it was, I, speaking these very words (but, of course, you do so perfectly without my help 🙂 )

    I am amazed, also, at the depth of insight and awareness that is clearly reflected in your eloquent poem, here. You never cease to amaze me!

    Reply
    • August 11, 2017 at 8:43 PM
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      Well thank you Tamara for your accolades on this poem. Much of what I pen is spontaneous, I’m given the words from another world I’m certain. Maybe being channeled by the other side reaching out to me, drawing me closer and closer to it’s veil, pulling me ever close to my destiny. So while I’m among the living on this side, words will flow from my soul when the time is right. Why a Thesaurus? Your talent is beyond the need of one. You have no shortage of free thoughts, flowing like a cool, sparkling spring over babbling brooks down a mountainside. I enjoy your posts here, so much to say, so talented with your visuals. Your a gifted writer Tamara, continue to share yourself with the world. Peace to you dear poet.

      Reply
      • August 11, 2017 at 9:40 PM
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        Whoa, Vincent…thank you soooo much!

        I am truly honored by your kind words to me.

        I am smiling, now 🙂 and so happy!

        Reply
  • August 11, 2017 at 6:04 PM
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    Beautiful Vincent, what more can one say. So wonderfully crafted and emotively heart-warming: tender and personal and an inspired piece my friend, Kudos.

    Reply
  • August 11, 2017 at 8:46 PM
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    Tony I appreciate your kind words, coming from you sir, I am truly honored. Like you, words come to me from deep within, they paint a picture in my mind so clearly, making them easy to lay down in front of my eyes for clarity and sharing with those interested in reading them. Thank you my friend. Cheers

    Reply
    • August 12, 2017 at 8:14 PM
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      Hey Vincent, if you go to Edit and then Text view, you can delete that unwanted space between the pic and the poem. Cheers!

      Reply
      • August 12, 2017 at 8:36 PM
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        You could also just put the cursor in front of the first letter and backspace. Either way, it’s corrected. Much appreciate the tip Tony.

        Reply
  • August 11, 2017 at 11:47 PM
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    Masterful piece my friend. How many inner voices and struggles do we daily wish to tell the tale of. With time and open mindedness we can truly be the poet. With pen afire, to summon memory as if thought a present sense can stir up such grand emotions such potent thoughts as these. Great piece my friend.

    Reply
    • August 12, 2017 at 5:24 AM
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      Thank you Paul, thoughts turn into words. Often they fly at us so quickly we must capture them in flight or they be forever lost in time. There are some brilliant poets here at TCE and I consider you one of them my poet. Appreciate your vivid comment as always. Cheers.

      Reply
  • August 12, 2017 at 9:01 PM
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    “With pen afire I seduce each word” – that you do my friend, way awesome. Love your work..

    Reply
    • August 12, 2017 at 9:11 PM
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      Thank you Kurt, much appreciated. I love your work as well, your a very fine and brilliant writer.

      Reply
  • August 13, 2017 at 3:59 AM
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    I can do little more than echo the comments of my other esteemed colleagues, Vincent. A truly inspiring work by a poetic craftsman.

    Reply
    • August 13, 2017 at 6:57 AM
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      Thank you John for your kind words, I listen to my Muse sometimes. Depending on my many moods determines whether or not the verse lives or dies in the trash.

      Reply

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