Poetry matters to me in ways I only realized, after I had started writing
Within my own subconcious lie the answers to all my questions in this life
...all my trials decyphered by myself, to myself, with words...
the meaning to the puzzle...and I have always had the picture!
appellare, get a sip of what’s unaware
Feel the firm in issued hand
On solid ground, weigh who that stands!
Cognomen, who are you?
Name yourself. O’ maiden rues!
Sobriquets, doth fades alas
. . . an alias? Don’t be an ass!
A’point, by signuum, infer, select
pro bare yourself, a non elect
Co-optations, brand-new leaf
Show them all just what you sheaf!
Re your world
Your tick still ticks . . .
Climb up higher to where the echos stick
Bid, hold your peace . . . and speak to it!
Poetry matters because it's music: which is the most pithy, concise and capsulated way to express emotion, states of mind and atmospheres using words. In fact even more condensed when done right then song lyrics themselves which usually have to serve the actually music melody or meter you choose to set the word to. Of course not all poems are short: but within them they should never be redundant (that's where the editor should step in) UNLESS that repetition is part of what state you are trying to create in the reader. So enought said, I like parallelisms and here's my most recent poem I wrote a few weeks ago. The only "poem" I've written since August 2007 I think:
River out of Eden [Confluences…]
Two streams running, side by side…
Merging – in a River,
Running to the SEA.
The River is You – (under sun & moon)
The little stream is me…
Confluences … emerging
River out of Eden, running to you…
Sometimes turbid, sometimes blue
Confluences – running crooked, running true
Mergers – flowing to the Sea,
Running homewards to You.
2. Two clouds building,
One bank over the Big Lake (yonder)
A little cumulus over my lone Pine Tree…
Floating, blowing towards the Blue beyond.
That sky is You (over clouds of rain, fields of dew)
…the Lone Cloud was me…
Confluences… “emerges” [running Home to You]
3. One Tree standing, on a lonely barren hill…
Like that old rugged cross,
That bore your body but couldn’t contain your SOUL –
That broken branch struck by storms,
Lies exposed like me –
The forest beyond yonder hill is You.
Confluences… Death merging into Life
LIFE emerges in a green vast sea.
4. Seeds of winter – lay them down – on dry fallow ground.
Waiting for rain (that never seems to come)
Seeds of Spring – YOU sow fertile soils,
Waiting for Rivers of Eternal Springs, fresh with life.
You said: “These are your harvests my children, for good or bad,
These are your harvests…” (On fields waiting for rain)
River out of Eden, running to You.
Some search forever (it seems)
Some turbid, some running true.
River out of Eden, sometimes running straight, sometimes running blue.
Poetry matters because it says so much, yet with an economy of words, using words that bring out the musicality of language. It can speak volumes of emotion or sensory experience, even if it is only a little haiku, if it is well-written.
I love the way that traditional (iambic pentameter / Shakespearean) sonnets have a rhythm that dances along sedately like a minuet. The old English style of writing is very charming, and well-suited to the sonnet.
Romantic Asian poetry really appeals to me. I love "Black Marigolds" by Chauras, which is a very long, sad love poem, well-worth searching for through Google. It is hauntingly poignant, full of references to exotic flora and fauna.
The world's best poems are worth reading again and again. "Bianca Among The Nightingales" by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, is a fabulous, darkly-dramatic love poem. Bianca, the central character, has moved away from her beloved home town of Florence, Italy, to live in England, after losing her fiancee to an Englishwoman (who is never named). One assumes that she has done this in desperation, to try to win him back. Her wistful stanza about Florence is enough to bring a tear to your eyes...
My native Florence! dear, forgone!
I see across the Alpine ridge
How the last feast-day of Saint John
Shot rockets from Carraia bridge.
The luminous city, tall with fire,
Trod deep down in that river of ours,
While many a boat with lamp and choir
Skimmed birdlike over glittering towers.
I will not hear these nightingales.
....This stanza shows the sheer power that a poet can have, to paint a vivid picture with words. You can feel her sad nostalgia about Florence, and clearly see the magnificent city, lit up at night, reflected in the water - "glittering towers" - and how the boats, lit with lamps, skim "birdlike" over the surface of these shimmering reflections. All through this spectacle, the fireworks are exploding on the bridge. Then, in the very next stanza, she introduces the other woman....
I seem to float, we seem to float
Down Arno's stream in festive guise;
A boat strikes flame into our boat,
And up that lady seems to rise
As then she rose. The shock had flashed
A vision on us! What a head,
What leaping eyeballs!—beauty dashed
To splendour by a sudden dread.
And still they sing, the nightingales.
.......the theme of the nightingales is repeated throughout the poem, as if Bianca feels that the birds are mocking her by bringing back the memory of how they sang on that same night. As you read on, the poem gets sadder and more emotional... highly recommended for anyone who writes love poems or enjoys reading them. It would also be great for an actress to read aloud, in an Italian accent.
There are so many poems I love; the dark poetry of Edgar Allen Poe, the humourous work of Spike Milligan, the more cryptic outpourings of Sylvia Plath.
I always come back to rhyming poetry in the end, especially the sonnet form, in my own work. Maybe I am just old-fashioned at heart.
The world would certainly be a poorer place without poetry. I love it... poetry is the beating wings of the written (and spoken) word.
Poetry matters to me because it is a way I can express my emotions. Sometimes I am confused and cannot sort things out; and so I write a poem. It helps me better understand myself and my world, explore different issues I am dealing with or others are dealing with.
It is respite and therapy. It's a delicious meal of a thousand spices that change with every taste. It's hands in ink, quill dreams and parchment moods. It's breath, life, essential for this woman to spin through the days.
Comes Alchemy Once, a man said, kiss me,and I said, anything butthat nectar, petal within petal.And, for two decades,neither have I kissed you.Everything else, yes.Anyhow, slow, attentiverape is…Continue
CREATIVE THINKERS INTERNATIONAL MEMBERSHIP GUIDELINES
1. Membership at CTI is free and open to all those interested in either the production or appreciation of the creative arts, to include literature, visual art, dance, music, film, spiritual theory, the social sciences, philosophy, general humanities, scientific inquiry, education in general, and other disciplines intended to enhance the quality of life for all humanity. Applicants should be at least 17 years old and members are allowed one full profile per person.
2. Materials posted by Members of CTI are their sole responsibility and not that of CTI management or any other member of the CTI site.
3. While recognizing that the work of creative artists is often controversial by its very nature, CTI prohibits and discourages the posting of any overtly obscene and intentionally inflammatory material. These include overt pornography, racist diatribes, religious slander, and any postings promoting discrimination against or the oppression of other human beings.
4. In the interest of stimulating creative growth, we encourage dialogue and even debate. However, Members should avoid leaving intentionally offensive or antagonistic remarks on the pages of Fellow Members. We can disagree and still remain a harmonious community.
5. Explore, grow, share, and enjoy your creative success.
Please remember, these guidelines are likely to evolve as the site itself continues to evolve and develop. We welcome and encourage your input. After all, yours are some of the best minds on the planet so we would be very foolish not to listen to what you have to say.