 Poetry: October 03, 2018 Issue [#9154] |
This week: Make breath Edited by: Fyn  
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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. ~~ Robert Frost
Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things. ~~ Matthew Arnold
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. ~~ Robert Frost
Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities.
Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.~~Jim Morrison
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it. ~~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
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I devoured a poem today. Some, I have sipped and let words swirl around my mind. Today, I inhaled as one would the scent of wood smoke on the morning breeze, or bacon or even that sweet, sassy smell of cotton candy. That explosion of a first bite of summer-fresh watermelon. I wasn't dainty, I didn't nibble a synonym here, a metaphor there - no, I, as if starving, manners flung to the wayside, dove in, swallowed whole and chewed with my mouth open. Words flavored with exotic spices melded with phrases born from a secret heart. I licked the page clean, left no crumb unread, no crusted word uneaten.
This. This is what a poem should do. Even as it is consumed, it should consume the reader. Then, I went back for seconds, needing, wanting the more of it. I needed to savor the layered nuances, let phrasings slide along my tongue, hear the words take flight and watch them dance across the ceiling. And yet, once again, the refrain of it touching some misplaced corner in my mind I hadn't known I'd lost and bringing it, dusty out into the light; the poem polishing it bright again.
The poet, an evolving creature, has phoenix wings and a child's soul. With words that caress, and others carrying the force of a breached dam, she sees her words physically, plays with them and sets them free to entangle in our emotions, pull at heartstrings or snap one's attention front and center.
Aspirations; this is the type of writing any poet covets, strives for, as then chase down that elusive combination that perfectly expresses the thought, emotion, need, desire or answer. Reading the words made my heart smile, ran rampant, resurfacing throughout my day -- catching me off-guard and surprising me once again. It was a really good day! |
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erbiage  says: Thanks for this, really brings me back. I spent several seasons performing at a renn faire in New Jersey
Monty  writes:A fine News Letter wit some great choices highlighted. |
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