The Poet’s- Poetry
The Poet’s poetry, 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.
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.
- My Muse-My Shadow - June 15, 2019
- Lit Up Skies - April 4, 2019
- Fair Thee Well - April 3, 2019
An interesting structure, less of what I in expectation, know as your work. Yet filled with emotion and the true grit of truth for we poets, our words finding form and place through the twisted embrace of our struggles and pain. You are a master at emotional sharing in the subtlety of carefully chosen words. Love your work always, dear Vincent. Cheers!
How true my friend. Punctuation none. Sadly I recall this late work was penned in a drunken stupor. A couple of bottles of wine to many indeed. I remembered it well. A night of a depressed mind. This piece has not been corrected, I leave it as a testimony to my failures as a writer. Maybe one day I will punctuate this jumbled piece of madness. Thank you for your kind words of support and encouragement as always Tony.
Indeed, a different format for your poetry, dear Vincent – yet, as Tony says, “filled with emotion and the true grit of truth for we poets,”. Well done dear poet. Take care.
Thank you Phyllis, appreciate your support as well dear poet.
Yeah my friend, this is a different setting than I am used to with you. Nonetheless it is a magnificent work, punctuation or not, those pesky things do not halt me from enjoying this piece. Well done my friend.
Thank you Paul, it was certainly a period of confusion for me indeed. Sometimes it takes an emotional stressful twist in one’s life to twist ones style a tad. Nevertheless, I’m okay and have moved on from that event. My Muse took liberty with me no doubt:-))