Death of poems and poetry
Poetry is not a collection of words but the thoughtful interactions of symbols with of our lives. Poetry is in our minds, and in our perspectives. Poetry can bring tears to the eyes of a million people or it can bring nothing, like the repetition of stories told, cyclic experiences brought upon by the very nature of time. Time that shows no mercy on thoughts or feelings. Poetry is the way you look at someone and see something unique each time.
Poetry is useful
Poetry is useful. Poetry is the blah, in blah, blah, blah. Poetry is an anchor, dragging reality between the layers of comprehension. Poetry is playful, nudging a happy something from somewhere to someplace.
Poetry, where did you go?
You must have abandoned me.
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You are afraid to tell me the truth
Speaking with numb tongues too afraid to feel the truth. The truth that emotions bring us back to humanity. From fetus to ashes we shutter with the vibrations of ideas to powerful to be expressed any other way than through poetry.
And to this I say, roses are red... but not all.
Poetry is the touch that moves through the air, never to connect, never to stop changing, never to fulfill its goal. An object so objective it makes subjectivity it's subject. Self inflicting, conscious and always yearning, poetry will prevail. Surviving one last moment in anything but a collection of words.
Do you ever write poetry?
Poetry has withdrawn from the world
But it's over. Poetry has ended. Poetry has betrayed me. Poetry has left my body, my mind, my nothingness. Empty but never really anything before. A shallow feeling of indifference. Poetry has experienced itself. Poetry has withdrawn from the world and seen the way we are. Poetry does not care, a human, a dog, a bear. Ears listen the same, without judgment, without shame. The mind give taste to the flavor of poetic sense. One value as undetermined as the next. Speaking in terms of understandability.
Poetry - take it or leave it
People seem to be too busy to write a love letter -- and actually put a stamp on it and mail it. Poetry is send to love ones via email, yes email, and the days of calligraphy writing seem to be over. Remember the art of calligraphy?
Poetry is something I'm not sure about. Should I keep it or leave it behind? My perspective tells me that I may never make up my mind.
Comments
Marlo, poetry is the birth of a thought coaxed from the soul. Keep it in your heart always.
Enjoyed reading your hub.
- AUTHOR
Thanks for stopping by tsadjatko - I love your comment "what are you doing, writing love letters?" That was so romantic, awwww.....
Your last paragraph is exactly the way I feel now about poetry (which seemed a bore when I was young) and I'm so glad you put that feeling into words.
I remember one of my roommates in college used to write love letters all the time to his girlfriend (which was a different girl evey few month it seemed) I guess he ran out of original poetic verse so he used to ask me questions about finishing sentences and words that rhyme when he was writing a note. Afte a while I noticed he always sat down to write when I was there nearby and I'd get barraged with phrases and asked for suggestions - it got to the point I said "what are you doing, writing love letters?" He said well yes but you express things better than I can, your suggestions are really good! He had no interest in being genuine.
So that was my second experience with poetry. My first was in 11th grade when my English teacher insisted we pick and read a poem in front of the class - something I was loath to do. To get even, I chose a poem called "Nuptial Flight" (I forget the author but it was very graphic) I figured just the title would be embarrassing enough he wouldn't allow me to read it and I could delay my day of reckoning some more along with getting back at him for giving us such a "feminine" assignment as reading poetry. Well he called my bluff...he sat in the back of the room with a big smile on his face as I announced the title - people ewwed and awwwed, but he just sat there gawking at me with his chin stuck out and this big grin. I was waiting to hear him say wait a minute! It never came, so I had to begin to read and wound up just embarrassing myself as I quickly turned red reading the verse in front of my classmates and the class roared so loud, the teacher kept asking me to repeat what I just read - the only good thing about it is it took up most of the period for me to get through this poem so I postponed the pain of reading their poems some fellow (male) students. :-)
I enjoyed reading your hub! I put it on SU so watch to see if your traffic goes up!
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