And my imagination shapes you
Kneading you to need me
Like I need you so
Mould the clay
...
Come with me
Place your hand in mine
You’ve been wanting to get away
And now is the time
...
Straying in to stormy weather
Our love was a weather balloon
And when the going got tough
You let go too soon
...
The animals tumble
A fall from their cradle, from
Their rest in the crescent of the moon
...
Ginger Bread Babies, Ginger Bread Pets
And my imagination shapes you
Kneading you to need me
Like I need you so
Mould the clay
Mould the dough
Who are you?
I don’t know
We have never met
But I have faith
I will find you yet
We’ll make ginger bread babies
And ginger bread pets
Amy, the poetry you submitted to this site showed imense talent, and i hope you are proud of the inspiration and gift you gave. i wait for the day we can all read your poems again. Graham xoxo
hello Amy You have a delighful talent. I really love the vibes....... you rock, ..... you wow me. You have power and imagination and brains. The same qualities, i admire in my wife. way to go
Amy I love your work. I look forward to reading you again. Thank you for your words dear poetess.
I think it's just fine to leave our your birth year. While understand the natural curiousity to know a poet's age, it's ultimately irrelevant. Anyone who writes a poem like 'Paper Crane' is emotionally very mature. That was one of the best poems I've seen on this site, and is one of only a handful that I've downloaded and saved. Good thing I did too, because I see you removed it - why? ?
Sorry to be obscure. Just two things: we usually put our year of birth, not just our birthday? And you had written a rather depressed poem. Sometimes it's the actual poet who's writing about themselves, sometimes it's not about them but about someone else. Some young poets seem to be almost suicidal these days. Just hoped that life wasn't that bad for you... michael
Hi Amy. Creative writers make you care about people who aren't them anyway, but it doesn't matter...sometimes. Should we all be rallying round this talented poet who wasn't born in any particular year (immortal? recipe?) with or without bagpipes...?