My poetry is like twisted steel, evolved from a tangled thought,
no plan or architect required, no structure have I been taught.
I select the pieces carefully, from the depths of my scrap pile,
silence is a second thought, which is camouflaged by a smile.
Like a Phoenix rising from the flames, a framework does evolve,
a cryptic story is soon created; then surprisingly, my plots unfold.
I fabricate and forge the lines, for symmetry I often seek,
and once my creative thoughts are set, no longer can I sleep.
Words are fasteners in a fast-paced world, like rivets in a sheet,
the bonding of the process true, the scrap I no longer keep.
As this enormous structure builds, upwards into a fitting end,
literary pieces fall together, just as the twisted metals bend.
The seconds seem like endless hours, of grinding into shape,
surely there is some final touch, to make this project great.
Then as the night is truly set and my eyes, they feel so dim,
visions I can clearly see, are stronger than the verse within.
So obvious as seen above, from the circling hungry vulture,
born today is not just a poem, it is an imposing sculpture.
By combining Poetry into a photograph you get POETPICS or PHOTOPOETRY.
A phrase of philosophy integrated into a photograph = PHILOETRY
Donate to the Smith family appeal via the link or buy an A4 / A3 size Glossy ‘Poetpic’
Search for my auto signature © James Irvine (hidden within Poetry Photographs)
See how this and other poems play a part in the Story 'Finding Harvey’, crafting another dimension of creative writing = 3D-Poetry.