Poetic acupuncture pins & tipping points

Sometimes
my brain sticks
every word with its
fly paper cells,
poems
readymade
where they fall,
but some days
there’s
just glue
between
my ears.

My words
have landed
in the middle of
your thoughts —
our texts are
transplants —
hearts
beating for
another’s
cause.

Poems
are
rabbits
pulled
out of
our
thinking
caps,
cards
drawn
from
our
sleeves,
doves
escaping
their
cage,
magic
on the
page.

My words
flew south
with the
geese,
leaving
my heart
aflutter,
wing
beats
echoing
betweenΒ 
my ears,
feathers
tickling my
tongue.

A creative
spirit never
ceases to
search for
inspiration,
it’s a lifelong
journey with
peaks &
valleys,
the view
elegant
on high
or down
low.

Garbage trucks
grumble their
engines down
our street,
excavating
trash cans like
Oscar the Grouch,
my lids lifted
from sleep.

A growing
season
to prepare
for Winter,
the trees
have stored
sunlight
for longer
nights,
we burn
cords of
their
progress.

Chlorophyll drained of color,
chloroplasts filled with sun power,
trees still grow on the flip side,
roots of greener pastures.

We’re
told that
there is a
time & place
for everything,
but earth is
not a constant
in the universe —
chaos acts before
destiny.

iPhones &
computer
screens —
pixels &
techno
codes —
mind
frames
hanging
at eye
level —
the future
easily
accessible —
fingers
tremble.

Writing to
warm up
my muse —
mental
aerobics —
get the
lead out —
hit the paper.

To see
the bigger
picture is
admirable,
but don’t
forget to
witness
your corner
of the world.

Your mind’s
eye will never
run dry,
it’s a
wellspring
ink well,
refilled
everywhere
you look.

Each poem
falls away
from my brain,
cradled &
cared for
by time,
words
taking
root on
the gravity
of silence.

A Sisyphean task
rolling this brain up
a mountain of
consciousness.

Pressure
points of
inspiration —
poetic
acupuncture
pins tapping
my brain on the
shoulder.

The
tipping
point of my
thoughts —
words
trying
to strike
a balance
with emotion —
my head’s
secondhand
poem from
the heart.

The sun
may
set early
today
but
there
is still
a light
burning
inside
your
mind’s
eye to
write by.

My heart
beats its
biological
clock,
as my brain
syncs with
the world’s
circadian rhythm,
ticking off
time in the dark,
anonymous
tally marks.

We brighten our houses
& trees during the
winter solstice to
see where we’re going,
each bulb a beacon
in the night sharing
a different light.

My
poetree
grows &
glows in
the dark,
its undying
roots
connected
to a world
of emotion.

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About tyler4turtles

I am an avid photographer, poet, ecologist, bookworm, blogger, art enthusiast and runner who calls Montana home but lives in Oregon.
This entry was posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Poetic acupuncture pins & tipping points

  1. rjl2727 says:

    A creative spirit never ceases to search for inspiration, it’s a lifelong journey with peaks &
    valleys, the view elegant…
    such a true statement. and i would have to admit that some of the comments we’ve shared has been inspiration for some of my writing. and so, thank for sharing enough to sharpen my writing.

    • You are most welcome, my friend, & thank you for the kind & thoughtful comment! I truly appreciate your presence in my life πŸ™‚ Have a wonderful Friday, weekend & New Years!
      Cheers,
      Tyler πŸ™‚

  2. simonhlilly says:

    Lovely collection of recorded stimuli

  3. I was trying to put all of these lovely words together as a totality. I now see that they are meant to be discrete observations, although there is a commonality of theme running through them. Or, at least they appear to be. I particulary love the words, because they pertain both to the act of writing and to nature – two of my favorite things.

    • Thank kindly, my friend! Yes, these are collections of micropoems that usually share a common theme. I’m glad you enjoy my poetry! I wish you and yours all the best this year. May it be filled with inspiration in the company of Nature πŸ™‚ Have a lovely weekend!
      Cheers,
      Tyler πŸ™‚

  4. jenimcmillan says:

    Perfect poetree πŸ™‚

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