Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Random Acts of Poetry

"Poetry should...strike the reader as a wording of his own thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance." 
- John Keats

I like to write what I call "random acts of poetry".

Basically, it is stream of consciousness writing, and as words come to me, often in rhyme, a theme develops in my head and I go from there.

Sometimes I go through periods of my life where these poems come out of me like wild fire...and then they go dormant for a while.

I'm inspired when I'm inspired!

I don't usually try to explain these - or any of my other - poems to people, because like any form of art, the person taking it in should interpret it through their own personal lens.

And I don't edit...I just write.

That is the fun part.

So these poems are no masterpieces that is for sure! It is kind of a fun word/emotion/mind game that I like to play with myself.

I'm kinda strange that way.

So...I just wrote this 5 minutes ago right on my blog post page here.

Chasing Butterflies

Blowing by
the sky
it's light
not bright
enough for her to notice.

She must run
beyond the sun
it's song
so long
yet short
because she missed it.

Chasing butterflies
so hard she tries
to stop
to mop
up tears of joy.

Or despair?
Does she dare
take a leap
mountain steep
or take task
and ask
and look up
is the cup
half empty or half full?

By: Lora Rossi (Feb, 2013)

And here's a little fun exercise.

If you would like me to write you a short, random act of poetry, just leave me a word, a theme, a quote, whatever...in a comment below, and I will write one for you based on your comment and post it as a reply to your comment.

Try me!




  1. Fun! But I'm going to choose a topic that is far from fun...since I know from being a regular reader than this is a topic close to your heart...with your work concerning child sex trafficking. So my topic for you is: child abuse

    Love your blog! Carrie-Ann Russe

    1. Wow! How to start things off with topic and a half! Thanks for playing Carrie-Ann...here goes!


      And she stares
      giving airs
      of the strong one
      the weight...a ton
      yet she must
      not trust
      and keep on her mask.

      He's in, he's out
      over and over
      that four-leaf clover
      she never had
      a mom, a dad
      he told her
      he'd protect her.

      Washed ashore
      dirty little whore
      will someone see
      that her...is me?
      Not a naughty
      pretty body
      but a soul
      whom out of coal
      is a priceless, lovely diamond.

      L.R. Feb, 2013