Thoughts destined to be washed away by the tides of life. |
I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance? I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them. Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog. |
Poetry is not just a matter of finding words that rhyme, Even though it is oft believed that free verse is a crime. Yet these classical-minded poets say nothing beyond mere speech. Ordinary words in cliched rhymes While against free verse they preach. Must I endure a thousand lines of love and dove and moon? Tired emotional playthings they shove at you and swoon. All great poets are dead, I think Those who held power in their quills. All poetry lies between their lines Never in these modern shills. Still they persist in rhyming schemes from dawn to setting sun. Instead of rare, poets everywhere And yet in truth, there are none. |