Musings on Poetry

I forget how much I love writing poetry when I don't do it for too long.  Forget how satisfying, frustrating, joy-bringing, and difficult it is to simply get a few lines out of my head and on to a sheet of paper, or a computer screen.  I find poetry far more difficult than prose, and I find I'm far more insecure with what I come up with.  Probably because I consider myself much better at prose than poetry!  But either way, I love writing poetry.  It satisfies something in me, that no other art form does.  So, I wanted to share a few poems I've written in the last few months...  

As Spring is now here, I think this poem, written on February 1st, is seasonally appropriate..

Do you remember when we used to catch tadpoles?
Their bodies slimy smooth and soft
Tails strong.
Remember when we'd let them go,
After a little while?
They'd dart away quickly
Into the murky shadows
And we'd go home
Spattered in mud
Smelling of pond scum and fresh air and
Happiness
Do you remember, now?

On  March 11th, angry and frustrated with the state of the world as I often am, I wrote this poem, entitled Broken Pavement. 

To find the secret way

Beside the voices-

Whispering of heretics

Traitors.

Mother Culture holds us close.

We must

Walk the winding paths

Away from the highways,

Sidewalks,

Sticky-hot asphalt.

Where:

Blueberries grow

And you can eat the cattails

Waving in the passing breezes.

Avoid the-

Institutions,

Corporate

Long grey hallways.

I’ll find the old buildings

Reclaimed by-

Love

Life

Life

And camp,

By a stream that fish still follow.

While I watch beauty escape in-

Ruins.

Finally,

Truly free

The stars will find me.

And finally, I've been having trouble writing any poetry whatsoever lately, so though I don't even like the finished product much at all, I was very proud of myself for managing to get over that block and write this poem yesterday!

why?  I ask

watching from behind the blinds

as someone rides by

blocking out the world with two small earbuds.

 

I know the certainty of holding back

like the boy on the bicycle

staying hidden

content in containment of Self

risk gets forgotten.

pushed carefully to the back of the closet

where I don't have to look at it

and can almost

almost-

forget it's existence.

 

dancing in confinement

starts to feel like freedom

after a while.

 

but risk is always there

even when I close my eyes tightly

thinking of warm places

and sweet darkness.

I feel the pull

longing

for something spicy

dangerous.

sparkling eyes and bitten lips

strange streets and breathless laughter.

distant

dreamlike.

reality seems so mundane, sometimes.

Life something that happens

on the other side of the glass:

not for me.

But…

  

yesterday,

I opened the door

just for a moment:

the sunshine smelled like adventure.

~~~~

Thank you for reading! :-)

Peace,

Idzie