Poetry
Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
Kahlil Gibran
It comes as I'm rising from sleep, that nibble of an idea.
I wake with a few words still swimming on the edge of my consciousness, a glimpse of movement in the shallow water. Those are the mornings I go fishing. I kneel down by the water and cast my net. It drops, and as it begins sinking slowly I toss in my bait: bits of sentences, questions, ideas, words dropped into the water like so many tempting tidbits. I lean over the water, calling, singing, whispering. I cast out the net and bring it up empty, over and over, Until, at last, the moment comes. Finally I feel it move, squirm, and come to life. Not a moment to lose: hand over hand I start pulling it up one last time. Heavy, so heavy. I pull hard, groaning, and it comes up sparkling in the sun, full to the brim with wriggling silver life, too alive and strong for me to hold, It pulls me in, then, and willingly I fall and sink, surrounded, swimming in a sea of words.
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Always read a poem three times.
The first time pour it out in a long breath, a flow of words, tilt the cup and let it spill out like colored stones, all speaking at once. Just listen. The second time heft it from hand to hand, hold it up to the light, peer into its wavering depths. touch each word with a questing finger, whisper them, let them slide over your tongue, the sharp, the sweet. The third time (or the fourth, or the tenth) wait. just wait. If you have earned its trust, it may just slowly, slowly open, a slender green tendril might emerge, uncurl and quiver to life. Lean close, and you may hear it whisper a secret just for you. |
A lifelong love of writing...
I have my high school teacher, Mr. Holub, to thank for my love of writing. I keep a journal, write poetry, and occasionally venture into short essays and fiction. On the bucket list: write a novel! Archives |