Stray Bits of Poetry

I don't particularly like poetry as such. There are some poems, which have moved me, that I've held onto like Invictus or The Highwayman. But I never found reading or writing poems to be a fun leisure.

However, very rarely, a single idea will so captivate me that I need to find a way of expressing it properly. It must be an expression which is lyrical, concise, and completely encompasses the idea that fills me. So, it sings on paper like it does in my head. These bursts are never long, complicated or very well structured and I learned years ago that it's only dissatisfying to try to embellish them into something more.

Envious skies
Derive their luster
From his eyes.

The meaning of life is my two hands and my head,
Making many happy years before I'm dead.