Archive for November, 2008

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Day’s Sweet Morning

November 11, 2008

sunrise

I live in day’s sweet morning,
before you stir about.
On words I’m feed and satisfied,
yes, coffee – very stout!

To read and write in quiet times,
allows my mind to run.
I blaze a trail on virgin snow,
with thoughts and prose so won.

Thus I write about varied things,
just thoughts that strike my mind,
some have acrid verse that stings,
some, fodder yet to grind.

Each morning gives a special light,
veiling my worldly view,
of common themes, but never trite,
I color with this hue.

I need this time to free my heart,
to lay my words aroun’,
and seek some wisdom to impart,
with verbs that push a noun.

The quiet morn is all I need,
to craft my feeling so,
for it’s the time my muse is freed,
and my emotions flow.

To have the world travel around
is clutter to my mind.
In petty needs and foolish talk,
my spirit becomes entwined.

Early I rise to start my day,
before the sun does fly.
Still think it strange this thing I do?
Well, at least you know why!

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Life’s About the Adjectives

November 9, 2008

Life’s about the adjectives,
it’s how we know the world.
Nouns, you see, are only names,
with adjectives – life is knurled.

Think about the apple,
just fruit upon the tree,
red ripe skin with tasty pulp,
better lets us see.

Providing us the texture,
of color if you will,
ADJ allows us space,
to give our lines the fill.

Life’s about the adjectives,
spice for the written line,
Verbs, you see, are motion,
and index things like time.

Think about the race car,
going around the lane,
zipping fast with lightning speed,
better feeds the brain.

Providing us the feeling,
of nature if you will,
ADJ gives the taste,
to writings we distill.

Verbs contain the action,
and nouns have the heart,
adjectives add the flavor,
for cooks of written art.

Life’s about the adjectives,
how else could it be,
that words paint the pigments,
in poems for us to see?

Note: Winner of the 2007  W. Espy Award for Light Verse

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Notes on Poetry

November 9, 2008

Poetry has many forms. Even no form at all is a valid format and can be full of meaning. The same poem can even mean different things to different people. That is what I like best about it, its openness to interpretation and feeling. For a poem to evoke a feeling in you, there has to be an underlying truth in it.

I was writing a friend this morning and commenting on her poetry. It occurred to me poets display bravery with regard to sharing emotions. You have to be brave, some would say reckless, with your emotions to share them so. Poetry involves the deepest reaches of the heart. Lost love, pain and abuse are frequent topics and the emotion within is easy to understand. In the happier topics, the poet’s heart can be harder to see but it is there.

For me the generally happy themes are more telling about the finer points of feeling. Look at it this way, we all can readily see and understand grief and sorrow whether one shows it or is more stoic. Happiness is reflected in other ways, a sly smile or a twinkle in the eye. How can you see that in a poem? I really don’t have the answers but I know you can. Next time you read a upbeat poem, think of the poet, you will see a hint of a smile in your mind.

I had a hard time describing myself as a poet a while back. It just seems so presumptuous. Over time I have come to realize that a poet is simply a person that expresses emotion with words. After hundreds of poems under my belt, I can look back and see that is true for me. I no longer have a problem claiming to be a poet, after all, to paraphrase Uncle Bill, “A rose by any other name is still as sweet!”

As it is I am happy with being just a poet – Poets may not change the world, but we do start the small quiver in the snow that becomes the avalanche of change. That is enough for me.

Poetry’s Truth

The poet may hide
this is true
but that’s not the point
for me and you.

Look to the work
not the hand
for there rests the truth
on which poets stand.

Truth is for each
depends on the eye
the way that we see
splits truth from lie.

The poet’s a tool
belongs to the words
there is the truth
the rest is for birds.

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