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I'm not sure how much I want or need to say about me. I've been writing poetry for about 8 years now, and I feel like I'm just starting out. I'm always on the look out for new ways of saying things. Always looking for new rhythms, rhymes, phrasing. I try to explore myself in this world, but not limit myself to just an exploration of me. I want to write a short story in verse. I've started on two and hope to finish them up in the near future. I also like to use art with my poetry... my website, http://poetrybyrobertrwoods.blogspot.com/ has my poetry and art on it. If you have a desire to visit, please do.
inside my coffee cup, a spoon taps
the edges of its mouth as I stir
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We’ll drink the morning coffee then we’ll call up all our friends
to wish them fair thee well, and tell the ones we never liked
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and you sitting by an open window singing an
old Dylan song while the emaciated, curtains
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that continue to divide
A-theorists and B-theorists
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the window, growls a sound
not unlike that which sleeping
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much... maybe for far too long... and maybe
I’ve drifted so faraway from the reality of my
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and wonder why I feel it's me
moving and not the Earth?
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It's just sitting there on the windowsill like
a lump of burnt out coal. Today should be
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I never had that many to begin with. For me a friend is as rare
as a truth. Everyone says, “I know a truth, when I see one.”
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I can’t help but be intimidated
by how big it is, how tiny I feel.
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