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Rhyming Poem
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 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: August 8, 2020      Views: 27
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I live in London.
I like writing poetry

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Chapter 1 of the book Book of Poetry
I love it
"Fly me to the fantasyland" by Benny Beeharry
I am a poet,
Nature is the field of beauty
And wisdom I wallow in.

When the sun is not warm
And the weather is peaceful in my mind
And heart,
I make my way across the village woodland.

And there crazily,
like bees drunk on the fragrances of flowers,
I stroll
And I loiter from one resting place to another;
Near the river
And under the trees where lithesome shades frolic.

There is a secret in that cool possessiveness of the woodland,
Something hauntingly serene
Something that invades your mind
Holds your heart captive,

Something inebriating and subtle.
There I seek those lines of unwritten poetry,
Those unsung notes of music,
Stray pieces from a great mosaic.

For poetry is not imagination
Not invented by the random mind.
Blind and insensitive mind lacking in depth
is rarely Invited into the ball of this inspiring mystery.

From the lands of fireflies
From the darkening of the evening sky
And the twinkling of the stars,

From the rolling silver sounds of the temple vesper bells
They come,
And I cull them, one by one, like picking the stars
from the bareness of the tinsel lit space.
These I bind with ligaments of wandering moonbeams.

The choice is endless, an opiating chase
Where beauty and music
Fragrance and movements combine to make the whole.

This I seek
The unseen source of the pieces and the mosaic,
The transcendental conflagration that burns,
No flame, no heat,
Beyond the tentative reach of this mind.

The book continues with Just some flowers. We will provide a link to it when you review this below.

Author Notes
Thank you Eleanor for this beautiful picture
Pays one point and 2 member cents. Artwork by elean at

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