Poem: Poetry Pause

Poetry Pause

Peppery pearls of purling poetry

Often flow fast and furiously.

Sometimes though, sonnets shine sans shimmer,

Growing gangly gaining no glimmer.

Therefore think it’s time to type on Tuesday,

Pausing poetry prepared prior ‘post’ days.

June Nash

I have been writing poetry at a pace of 4-5 per week since I started this blog.  I love writing, but think this may be too fast of a pace, especially around the holidays when I am being torn in several directions.  

I will be posting one poem per week from now on.  My poetry postings will be on Tuesdays.  

Poem: Add Some Color, Final Secret

Add Some Color

To paint a picture, which turns heads,

Must add color, yellows and reds.

Bringing, often, life to meadows,

Or a dale, full of gray shadows.

Writing a story which turns heads

Requires, too, a splash of reds.

Some blue and black truths can be told

But add some jive to make it bold.


Stories told true often will bore,

And it is true, fibs, I abhor,

So, to keep tales from being dry,

I must confess, often I lie.

June Nash

My final secret is, I don’t always tell the truth.  I write to be entertaining.  I draw on the truth, but truth doesn’t always fit.  Sometime a small fib here and there adds the needed punch I am looking for.  

I find writing poetry, and the poetic license that comes with it, liberating.  

Poem: Relaxed, a bit of humor, Part 3 of Seven Secrets

Self Portrait
Digital Self Portrait, using SketchBookExpress


To sit in a stupor

At home, no need to think.

That is the comfort zone

I often want to sink.


Relaxed in easy chair,

Snarls still not brushed from hair.

Propped in front of PC,

Mopishly sit and stare.

I know it isn’t smart

To spend the day like that.

This may even be why

My derriere’s so fat.

June Nash

Ever have one of those days, when you just don’t want to start moving?

Well, for me, it is on these days that I write most of my poetry.

Poem on writing poetry


Writing poetry, started at twelve
After that, dared not delve
Compared myself to my peers
My confidence lagged. . . for years

Mine were trite, all concealing.
Theirs deep, too revealing.
Sensitive, fragile, I was then,
would not put my heart to pen.

Today tales I have a lot
Too old to care if out they got.
Living with flare, have full life.
Time to share internal strife.
–                     – June Nash

I added this poem to the ‘About’ tab on this blog.