His heartbeat was a band.

Marching through his years.

The cliche of the drums.

The slide of the trombone.

The jazz of the saxophone.

The raucous clang of the cymbals.

Marching sixty-three years,

Members tired,

Lay down

In the street.

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I first got the poetry writing bug in the fourth grade. I participated in a program that allowed students to take various classes during the summer. When it came to the poetry class, I wasn’t very excited. I took the class because I had already taken all the others.

We were introduced to poetry and were later assigned to try our hand at writing a poem. My poem was about daffodils, although I don’t remember the text, I do remember that was the moment I fell in love with writing poetry.

You will see some of my poetry in the future!

I would define in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.

~Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there. ~Lewis Carroll