Poetry Is...

Posted on Jan 01, 2005 | Tags: | Comments (0)

Sometimes my feelings begin to evade me when I pick up my pen
My tiny emotions put on their running shoes and practice their  sprints as I try to chase them down and squash them on the page where  dogma tells me I should put them
My thoughts sometimes have a mind of their own and they tell me  that they don’t want to lie dormant on the fragments of a dead tree but  rather run free tickling the ears of my soul
I try to explain to them that I need them to be a poet but  instead they teach me a new life lesson that poetry is not simply words  on a page or feelings portrayed but something more intricate
Poetry resides in the fluff of my kitty cats black fur
the woven thread of my red couch
within the folds of the petals of dried flowers of old lovers that align my windowsill</div>
poetry resides on the blank page that screams passionately of the possibility of what it could hold
as well as the one full of words
they say to me that poetry is also…… in the silence