A Plea for Mercy at a Poetry Reading

Be patient please
as these words stumble
off my tongue or as they tip-toe
nervously to the precipice of my lips
nervously to the precipice of my lips
before leaping into your lagoon of thought.
Listen, these words have traveled
long years through the swollen rivers
and frenzied trees of a jungle mind
battered by storm. They are weary
as well as wary. As iron is bent
and tortured across the blacksmith’s anvil
these words are twisted and torqued
over the most trivial of fears;
they are raw with tedious obsessions.
Their blossoming has been withered
by the stale breath of isolation.
But know this, they are honest
and unassuming
as the tip of a blind man’s cane.
So take them gently as you now
lead them through the obstacles
of their own making.

© 2021 Jason James Sheppard

Woodland

Let me be
amongst your trees
for when you write
upon the sky
like poems
my thoughts come
to life
in the stillness
of your wood
and I must travel
again and again
through this forest
and listen as
your myriad leaves
sway
in leisured dance
and you sing me
songs of
olden days and
whisper secrets
through the wind
so I go
into the woodland
to lose my mind
for here
is rest

From the blog of Little April Shower
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