Avant-Garde Writer – Poem

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Avant-Garde Writer

By Talin Mari

 

I write in the dark like the avant-garde,

Moving from café to café without regard.

With my coffee cup always on my side,

I write feverishly throughout the night.

 

My dreams and ambitions floating about,

One word at a time I think is only allowed.

Chaos forms as I think of the past times,

Write, write, write them all in these lines.

 

No longer caring about a given structure,

I am the avant-garde destined to revolt.

The rhymes becomes non-existent here,

As I realize that it is I that am the change.

 

Rise up and create your own destination,

Be your own life’s unconventional rebel.

These are the thoughts that run rampant,

As I write in the dark like an avant-garde.

 

Poetry to Break Free and Dream

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Thickened Bars
By Talin Mari

These thickened bars enclose my dreams,
Haunting me as I stare at their enclosure.
What fear is it that I must try to overcome?
Why do I feel apprehensive to break free?

These thickened bars hide my true being,
Masking me of my desired future passion.
What transformation must I still undergo?
Why do I want to hide and stay concealed?

These thickened bars are my true enemies,
Restraining me from believing in my abilities.
What have I done to create these rigid bars?
Why do I not choose to simply shatter them?

“If” in a Different Perspective

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If

By Talin Mari

If

If I could…

If I could fly, I would soar high into the sky. I would fly over the Empire State Building.  I would touch the pointed needle on the building to see whether it is really sharp or just an illusion.

If I could climb without any tools, I would climb the trees in the rainforest. I would climb to the top effortlessly and confidently.  I would peer into the rainforest like any jungle monkey and grab a vine to swing from tree to tree.

If I could sing with an angelic voice, I would perform in an opera house. I would sing in every language, understanding and feeling all the phrases that float like bubbles out of my mouth.  I would rise to the tips of my toes as my voice gently flows into the room with no form of shyness.

If I could be a flower, I would be a rose. I would smell so sweet that no one would resist putting me on display.  I would listen and hear the love that surrounds those that gave and received the rose.  I would hear their story and it would be mine to keep in the calm tranquility of my beautiful vase.

If I could be, I would be me. The flying, the climbing, the singing, the flower are all a part of me.  There is no if….