Poetry Bubbles Up From Within
Some people claim that they can generate poetry when they want. It doesn't work that way for me. Poems just spring into my mind from I know not where. And, if I don't write them down then they float away just as fast, like waking from a dream that has been carried to you on the wind, and just as quickly goes forth into new lands.
A little poem struck me while I happened to be near one of my notebooks last week.
I had recently seen "Antony and Cleopatra" by Shakespeare in the Rose Theatre at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. Maybe that's why another one hit me.
I had a meeting to get to about the wedding I'm officiating in a couple of weeks. But words wouldn't stop coming to me. I think I missed a few poems, and they truly are like a mist. If not captured on paper in the moment they simply pass away from me. But I caught three more.
One
Two
Three
If I could reveal the mystery of poetry to you I would. But I can't. It's more of a revelatory experience than anything for me. I follow no form, no meter, no scheme. It simply comes as it wills, of its own accord.
A little poem struck me while I happened to be near one of my notebooks last week.
- - - - - - -
Time is a mold,
into which we pour,
our heart and soul.
To fill up space,
with our lethal loves,
or suffer disgrace.
- - - - - - -
Time is a mold,
into which we pour,
our heart and soul.
To fill up space,
with our lethal loves,
or suffer disgrace.
- - - - - - -
I had recently seen "Antony and Cleopatra" by Shakespeare in the Rose Theatre at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. Maybe that's why another one hit me.
- - - - - - -
'Tis possible to lead,
even in a life of strife.
To plant the seed,
even when we bleed,
nay because.
To take a zero,
and not by multiply,
or regenerate,
but to create,
life;
which grows,
therein are born,
heroes.
- - - - - - -
'Tis possible to lead,
even in a life of strife.
To plant the seed,
even when we bleed,
nay because.
To take a zero,
and not by multiply,
or regenerate,
but to create,
life;
which grows,
therein are born,
heroes.
- - - - - - -
I had a meeting to get to about the wedding I'm officiating in a couple of weeks. But words wouldn't stop coming to me. I think I missed a few poems, and they truly are like a mist. If not captured on paper in the moment they simply pass away from me. But I caught three more.
One
- - - - - - -
Poetry,
from whence does it spring?
and does it ring,
true?
or vain glorious?
over this I rue.
- - - - - - -
Poetry,
from whence does it spring?
and does it ring,
true?
or vain glorious?
over this I rue.
- - - - - - -
Two
- - - - - - -
Ruminate,
and procrastinate,
breeding hate.
Like Cain,
Able beyond the pale,
guilt shrouded with a veil.
And do we assail,
or inspire,
to aspire,
or aspirate,
and fill the heart with weight?
Until it bleeds,
blue-
and exasperate.
- - - - - - -
Ruminate,
and procrastinate,
breeding hate.
Like Cain,
Able beyond the pale,
guilt shrouded with a veil.
And do we assail,
or inspire,
to aspire,
or aspirate,
and fill the heart with weight?
Until it bleeds,
blue-
and exasperate.
- - - - - - -
Three
- - - - - - -
To set sail,
not on the waves of the ocean,
but on the wind of the breath.
Words spoken,
like unto the deaf.
Silence returned,
unearned.
Sound sought,
and left unfound.
Glory,
is an unloyal hound.
- - - - - - -
To set sail,
not on the waves of the ocean,
but on the wind of the breath.
Words spoken,
like unto the deaf.
Silence returned,
unearned.
Sound sought,
and left unfound.
Glory,
is an unloyal hound.
- - - - - - -
If I could reveal the mystery of poetry to you I would. But I can't. It's more of a revelatory experience than anything for me. I follow no form, no meter, no scheme. It simply comes as it wills, of its own accord.
________________________________________________
Read more of what Jeff deems worthy of attention at: http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com
Comments
Post a Comment