James Wilson Poetry

Her tears crooned in tune with the moon Strumming each lash in a harp like fashion Her wail riffed and lept from her quaking lips Dripped And collected in a pool above her upper lip Scaled the corners of her frowned Slowly As if being lowered down Each significant to…

There’s a problem We all have them Some one, two, a few Yet we cut branches, praying the tree heals Without ever nurturing the roots That drive miles into the unseen Twisted and tangled into streams That feed from large bodies of unclean Like all living organisms this tree thirsts…

Mahatma Gandhi was but a man Who had at his core Held a heart led by a pen From the start a spark slowly grew into a flame As life words itself into a winding road a man feels touched by a higher power A bow to this feeling should…

So what came first The poet or the words If I dissect my dialect I suspect the verbs Then colorful adjectives Objectively glorify My life and experience To the words I grasp from floating by They breathe life into each sentence The subject’s are my own But there is wisdom…