Doodles

 

 

 

 

Doodles/

By Sami Khalil

(Had these feelings of inferiority when I started writing and when my family and friends did not believe in me …)

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I felt like a dud!

In my lonely cogitations

Upon my forgotten doodles

Dissevered from evanescent aeries.

 

I felt tawdry!

In my precious broodings

Upon my cacophonous surmises

Enraptured in fastidious poetic words.

 

I felt helpless!

In my unheard, unseen inwards

Upon melodious heart-strums

Entrailed in recesses of life’s songs.

 

I felt traceless!

In my alternate universe

Upon my scalding babblings

Sky lined of exploding recognitions.

 

I felt a poet...In self-gratitude

When life left him wafting in the breezes

When love left him lapping in the waves

When death left him mourning in past arrears.

Reviews

[Belle]

Sami, I have been here thrice but I was just trying not to comment because I was not sure how far my words can take me, yet I can't resist myself from not sharing my thoughts about this, so here I am. I can feel you completely. It is truly sad when the people we care too much do not appreciate the only important thing that makes us happy and we know we fully posses. It becomes a battle deep within if we will continue to believe in it, in our capabilities or we just let it go because it does not anyway brings happiness to the ones we love-- that each time we pen we feel the guilt somehow; it feels like needles pricking us in the middle of happiness every time we come up with good poetry...

[Anand Sehgal]

Now you are in control, don't worry friend :) :) great write :)

[Leonard Birch]

Honestly. This is a great write my friend. My story is I never felt good enough to express my voice in words, yet I kept writing. Along with feeling different, I keep moving on.
Thank you.
Leo

[TL Boehm]

I once heard that no one will ever be as passionate about your dream as you are. That being said, I believe that artists create art for others - and when that art is not felt, seen, heard, read - its like shouting into the void.
I really liked that first stanza - "forgotten doodles" Like the way that phrase rolls around.
Well done.

[ayosonolowo]

well i have never face any hardship in my writing
i mean:- some one trying to stop me, naaa!
A friend show me the way and i thought i have the talent, then i jumped in
nice writting man
great job
i really liked it

[Cory Firestine]

For years I felt the same as you did Sami but as time passes we decide to do the things that we are passionate for and drive us to do, whether supported or not. Though with support is always better, which you will always have in our community. :-) Another great poem from an exquisite Poet.

[s y e]

NoodleDoodle loves this, Sami - haha, like it? :P I'm the complete mental one in my family, haah - My brother is the one who loves his computer, I love writing, singing and dancing (although I can't sing nor dance, haha) Awesome write, Sami!

~ NoodleDoodle! :P

[Rita L. Sev]

My brother is a musician; I write poems; our sister thinks we are both odd... we were lucky that we were each encouraged to pursue whatever would fulfill us, but there are so many who, while they do not discourage us, they certainly do not understand. But, a Poet you are, Sami - and you have found your kin here! Keep dazzling us with your doodles, my friend! :)

[Troy Henson]

For so long I hid my poetry from all. Now that I am expressing myself more and people know I am a poet I do get the odd looks and comments however this just makes a stronger, improved and open writer.

Great piece Sami.
Regards
Troy

[Stella Armour]

we poets seem to be "different", perhaps family think us a little mad, mine do...lol, but i just carry on in my own mad little world, they don't know what they are missing

[annie lee]

It is a lonely pursuit. My daughter hates poetry (modern education!). My husband does not understand it; he furrows his brow and tries to look interested, but I know it's a hoax. Thank goodness for college professors and other poets. And this pursuit can"t even support an individual! None of my dreams have been lucrative; my career was, but I only gave it what I needed to remain on top. Now I'm writing like a maniac, racing the sand in my hourglass (analogy per Terry Pratchett, bless his rich and beautiful series Disc World) and grieving because I couldn't be a poet sooner. You sorrowfully paint the picture of our lack of support from those we depend on, and so we can commiserate. Here we be, oh, fiddlety dee.