Segment one:
1.Authors name: poet2angels / Lynda
2.Age: 40 something
3.Genre of poetry: mostly free verse these days but some rhyme and form poetry on love, humanity, life and more...
4.Collaborations: many with my collab partner looneyeclipse
and some with my AP family members fug-azi, Errant Panther & jasminerose
and AP members Kaibab, born4freedom,poetryality,Toni A Christman and Lex-i-con.
5.How many other round contests have you entered: 4
6.How often are you on AllPoetry: daily
7.who has been your inspiration to write: many people and circumstances in my life but mmost of all, my heart.
8.Your likes: love, children, poetry, flowers
9.Your dislikes: users, cruelty, discrimination
10.Why are you auditioning: looks like a great contest series, a fun challenge and my AP Bro fug-azi recommended it
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Segment two:
If Only To Melt ~
In bashful eyes
peeking through the keyhole
until voices were silenced,
poetry was born in my heart.
It was my fairytale
when life was too real-
writing rhymes, reflecting
a prettier picture of love.
Fingers intertwined
with incessant faith,
I found poetry in psalms
and we three formed a circle.
Through the years,
I painted my tears on life's canvas,
in splatters of liquid longing,
sharing in empathetic sentiment
fragments of my heart.
In my book of memoirs
there are no diamond clustered cameos
nor black tie events
held in my honor,
My poetry will not be studied
in literary books
or carved in tombstones
[between parenthesis.]
I will always be that dreamer
d
a
n
c
i
n
g
in my field of flowers
picking daisies, plucking petals
"he loves me,
he loves me not"
just a simple poet
that fluttered through life
whispering syllables of love
if only to melt
a heart along the way.
♥♥
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Segment three:
Poetry, Like Love...
Shadows call out to me
when vulnerability seeps in
under my veil,
for, it knows well of my blank canvas.
If I could only pen petals
pulsating passion;
letting love color my imagination
anything but black,
but my words,
they follow breezes
and leave me here, dangling
-somewhere in between-
watching fireflies play
in clandestine corners
where constellations refuse to shine.
I could borrow brush
and beat old memories to death
to free my fingers;
rip out my heart
to find shreds of emotion
to feed fate's fancy,
but poetry, like love,
cannot be forced
or left gathering dust
beneath dried flowers
of a bride's maid bouquet.
It must be nurtured,
given room to bloom
flowing in perfect rhythm
to the shape of a heart.
♥♥
~
Adding your comment:
especially angels
