Tag Archives: poem

Memories of a Dead Dream

Memories of A Dead Dream
By Te’Kia Miller

Broken, tattered, battered

Here lie the remains of dreams scattered
In the rains they flow through gutters
Into puddles full of scorned stars
For these wings will never see flight

Dipped, clipped, and

From life’s rough hands
They did not handle with care
So why care
For what could have been the present?
That would have been a gift then
But here and now is settled
In the memories of a dead dream



A Muse’s Stolen Moment

A Muse’s Stolen Moment
By Te’Kia Miller 

Submerged in rivers of smooth jazz
Overflowing, filling canals into
Time and space unaccounted
The world has washed away
In the tides of a muse’s making
Only the poet is listening
Quietly in a world of storms
It is the third eye of a sixth sense
To see and hear this beauty
Called muse 

Original.2017. 4/22/2017.

The Breakdown Poem

Poetry was something that didn’t come naturally. I wasn’t interested in writing it, much less reading it. Somehow or another I’ve come to love poetry as well as writing it. I have and continue to write on a range of subjects. With each piece I try to make it different, especially when writing on the same subject. However, I realize that I do favor certain words, phrases and images in my poetry within each subject.

Because of these favoritisms I sometimes like to breakdown the elements of a particular poem I have in mind to write. Breaking down a poem helps me to: see each part individually, focus on the message and/or image I want to convey, decide which parts to elevate and how to elevate them, and critically think about the poem as a whole.

Doing this also forces me to think about my word choice and decide if I should use a synonym versus the actual word or create my own using imagery instead. I try to show rather than tell in my poetry. Showing instead of telling is something I read a lot about on writing novels and short stories. I try to make the same balance in my poetry.

Dissecting the poem before writing it helps me to find the words and phrases that will help me to show instead of tell. I find that certain words spark an image. If those imagery words can be joined with words that trigger the senses, I think it strikes the right tone for the poet. I’m not a student of poetry in the formal sense so this is pretty much my observation from my own experience in self-study, writing, and opinion.

Why am I writing about this you ask?

Because I have a Valentine’s Day poem waiting to be posted. I used this method for the piece that will appear on the 14th. I’ve also used this breakdown method in the past to help others write their own poem.

This breakdown method is a great way for the poet to focus their thoughts and map a way from beginning to end of a poem. Again, my opinion and it works for me. There’s no structured way to break the poem down. It’s basically just jotting down notes and connecting similar ideas to one another. It’s in the associations and connections of this information where I find my poem.

What works for you?




Grey and Gold Marble

Grey and Gold Marble
by Te’Kia Miller

The cold bites into my skin
a tale-tale sign winter is nearby.
Marble statues grey and gold pass and spin;
The cold bites into my skin
while the sun sets in a bronze grin
for night across the way to fly.
The cold bites into my skin
a tale-tale sign winter is nearby.

Original. 2016.

Another Triolet. Still testing my hand at them 🙂

The Muse’s Return

The Muse’s Return
By Te’Kia Miller

In an unfamiliar place as this
Still I feel you coming
inhabiting my being as you have before.
At first is cold and awkward
clumsy over words and emotion,
a sign too long a time has passed.
Inside me is a warming sensation
filling me, lifting me
as you take comfort
and so do I.
When the flow comes with ease
we speak not and yet speak clearly
in a peculiar silence shared between us.
The moment is become familiar,
the distortion now a clear vision
by the words spoken in your
silky voice. They are laid bare
before the printer’s point
etching on tender souls
collected in this book.


Ocean View

Ocean View
By Te’Kia Miller

What mysteries abound in your depths
only God possesses that wisdom
and pearls gather your secrets in clam shells

Rarely they wash ashore to give that gift
which awes land dwellers with fascination
and sets the imagination on a wondering path

Such is the case
every time I hear your voice,
waves of sweeping whispers
lulling my eyelids shut
but still I see you,
a vision of exotic blue
in my wondering mind

Original. Copyright 2015.

Obssessions and Compulsiveness

I’ve just finished another round of “last revisions”. Notice the quotation marks? Haha. That’s because I have a compulsive need to edit and revise my work multiple times. I know for some people, if not many, this is the hardest part of the writing process. For some reason it’s the part I enjoy. Even though I’m not sure exactly why this is, I do have my suspicions to a few reasons. One thing is for sure, I’ve had this compulsive need to edit/revise ever since I was  kid when I first started writing. Maybe that’s where it stems from. Every time I would go over my work, I noticed misspelled words because I wrote too fast (Yes, I wrote with pencil and paper), there were plot holes, I was being critical, too much detail, too little detail or there was always something. So, I’d check it once, twice and ten more times until I was satisfied. I guess I’ve carried that with me into my adulthood. I know for some it’s a gruesome process because it means chopping here, nipping there, snip that, cut here, get rid of this. But I think it’s good to trim places where there’s maybe a little too much fat to make the work leaner and cleaner. I consider editing and revising as a polishing. Whether or not it would help others to think of it that way, I’m not sure.  All I can say is that for now, I’m satisfied with the revisions I’ve made on this novel I’m querying for and look forward to finishing its sequel. I will also be going through numerous rounds of editing/revisions before I’m satisfied with it.

Smoke Blower

Smoke Blower
By Te’Kia Miller

They can’t see the fire burning
For the smoke filling their eyes
Perception plays its role perfect
In smog and haze filling their reality
With doubt and unbelief

That my dream will never be
Could never be
But how can this be?
Words from so called supporters
The ones closest to me said
I could be anything but now

My dream is at hand
They’ve all accused the dreamer

As a smoke blower
Piping dreams into the sky
Where they sail on wayward winds
But my wings have finally sprouted
Catching destined winds
Upon which I fly
A Phoenix of fire from their dead dreams ashes
I rise above those who never achieved
So yes!
I am the smoke blower
Burning their eyes in haze
And setting their lungs on fire
To snuff out their doubt
And cut off their unbelieving words
Which no longer feed my fear
Nor fill my ears
For the dream calls me now
To reach for the place beyond the stars