A N I Q U E S A R A T A Y L O R
Artfully arranged atop her floral perch, awaiting her flock, she sips soup
No shame, no blame, no thoughts of unworthiness
Invent a new season, unravel black and white to equal red
Quake before richness of talent
Ubiquitously, there through Zoom, urging us to unwrap our unrevealed through poetry
Effusive spiritual coach enkindles electrifying poets in progress
Sagely, slyly, she supports each bumbling beautiful effort
Ah sleep—a path to the soul, rise and run with the wind
Rendezvous with open arms, we dance across the page,
Attacking painful memories and lusty secrets with equal fervor!
To some fright is blank paper
Anique pauses soulfully whilst she treads through the mists
Youthful recollections, poetry deconstruction, and very useful lists
Luck is learning, learning is love
Ordered chaos as thoughts grow wings
Rocking the prompts for ravenous fledglings . . . rouse hearts, rattle brains, roil innards, release bombs . . . with immense GRATITUDE for the maven raven who pushes us from the nest!
