Time Trip

Searching for and re-reading poems I fell in love with years ago, that I’m now sharing on this blog, has been like a time tunnel to the past. The lines written still resonate with me years later, and the feelings I felt then and now will last a lifetime. 


My Inner Life

‘Tis true my garments threadbare are,
And sorry poor I seem;
But inly I am richer far
Than any poet’s dream.
For I’ve a hidden life no one
Can ever hope to see;
A sacred sanctuary none
May share with me.

Aloof I stand from out the strife,
Within my heart a song;
By virtue of my inner life
I to myself belong.
Against man-ruling I rebel,
Yet do not fear defeat,
For to my secret citadel
I may retreat.

Oh you who have an inner life
Beyond this dismal day
With wars and evil rumours rife,
Go blessedly your way.
Your refuge hold inviolate;
Unto yourself be true,
And shield serene from sordid fate
The Real You.

– Robert William Service


social underground

Sometimes inspiration is hard to come by. I really like the idea of putting a photo up and calling on fellow writers to write a piece on it. I think it would be really interesting to see everyone’s take on it and the amazing variety it could produce. I would love it, if you have the time, to interpret this in your own way, any genre, even if its a one liner. Depending on the amount of responses I will re-blog some of them. Comment  on this post with the link to your work inspired by this photo.


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I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings


A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

– Maya Angelou