Joy’s Inspiration

Sometimes…I don’t have anything important to say;

But me? I like to play around with words anyway…

And I’m wondering…

Can I pull something from this still sea of tranquility?

Without inspiration must I abandon my word ability?

Yes, I’m pondering…

On the meaning of what I do as I search for a reason…

To share my words with you in and out of my season;

Am I really floundering?

In a sea of useless thoughts they call a writer’s block?

Or if I without thought write will my purpose unlock?

Am I time squandering?

Will truth emerge from these floating random words?

If I hammer long enough will inspiration flock as birds?

My ideas meandering…

An epiphany spark, imagination lights in bright yellow!

My fractals of thought ordered, tasty like a lime Jell-O!

I do love to go wandering…

I enjoy spelunking the unknown labyrinth of my mind!

Journey into my inner mystery; Truth is my joy to find!

Might of inspiration roaring!

Flowing words of true beauty, Truth is key, words unlock…

Spirit’s purpose over-rides emptiness of my writer’s block.



The Wordsmith’s Choice

A Wordsmith reverently opens his paint box of words;

Expertly organized: color, texture, taste, sound, and sight;

To interlace appropriate names given motion by verbs;

Carefully align; hammer into shape; shine a favorable light;

On a treasured nugget of truth, a thought in safety girds,

The framework of culture; the very heart of nation’s might;

Wordsmiths find joy and purpose in high use of words.


A Wordsmith carelessly digs in search of a prurient word,

In disheveled box, looking for the right red and darkest black;

To scandalize, incite lust, create excitement, and be heard;

Red raw meat to draw them, in hopes of green bills in a stack!

Carefully places words in artful but base advertising blurb;

Hide death at the core; no care for society going off the track;

Purpose undermined by greed, joy is lost in truth deferred.


Indigo Sorrow Saffron Joy

In the midst of a saffron reverie, my tissue paper dreams caught on fire!

Blazing in hot red-orange bravery! Then scattered swirly- ash funeral pyre;

Settled in an indigo mood unsavory; like a leaden December sky’s icy mire;

Mourning rose colored art knavery, which only joy of pure hope sets afire!

Sweet lavender prose mean slavery, to they who Wisdom’s words desire,

Pure white ideals more than savory; expressions of guiding light to inspire!

And apply in earthly browns every, Holy Heavenly thought worthy to aspire!

Rhapsody rainbows of intense reverie, words meant to change world’s attire.