Friday, August 05, 2005

Poetry Corner

I'm really not much of a poetry person, if the truth be told.

I mean, I appreciate the spirit of it, and the soul. But I just have never been able to get into the vibe. Reading it, hearing it, and especially writing it.

And definitely not if it rhymes. Not sure why, but if it rhymes and it's not Suess, Shakespeare, or song lyrics, I'm out.

Occasionally I do find something that resonates with me. Rosie (O'Donnell, from the Rosie show) has a blog that she writes in kind of word-image bites. She says it isn't poetry but it seems poetic to me. I've been able to really get into some of the stuff she writes.

Thing is, I found out this week that my little brother writes poetry and I never knew. Never even suspected. He put some on his blog and to me it seemed to come out of the blue. It struck me as so uncharacteristic that I kind of gave him a little bit of a hard time in his comments. He enlightened me to this secret part of his inner life in his next post. He was a good sport about it all, never losing his sense of humor---but still. . .

So, in an effort to try and retract my unintentional discouragement, I said that I would put up some "poetry" of my own. I used to keep journals, you know, the kind with paper and a binding that you have to write in with a pen or pencil. Old fashion stuff. I did this through grad school in an effort to capture my creative energy for use later in writing or directing projects. It started out as a class assignment and I just kept going after that.

After I finished school, I dropped it. At one point I wanted to get back to it, and so I bought a new little journal and wrote in it for a bit. That got laid to the side after a while too, but when we were putting in carpet, and turning our house upside down in the process, I found it again.

I discovered a couple entries that might be considered "poetry"---they feel like that. Kind of poetic. I didn't set out to write poetry but just sort of wrote "thought fragments" that strung themselves together on the paper in kind of a piece of word jewelry.

Anyway, I told my bro that, to be fair, I would put myself out there like he had. So, here they are:

#1
when
till then
always the never sometime (next time)
I can't say
can't pray
my mouth as dry as death
when I speak
thru love
my words sting
and you fling
them back at me
with my silence I'm killing you

#2
When I write I need the music
when I hear music I need the words
when words meet music make
them stand
make it move with light
then it's complete--I can rest
it lives in you now

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

That's poetry for sure. But, dude, that comment on your brother's site? Brutal. :)

11:05 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Methinks that the beauty (and pain) of poetry is that it often comes from precious parts of ourselves and it can feel so raw and unprotected when we put it out there in the world.

Brave of your Bro. Brave of you.

Write on oh blogman...

11:52 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Go read my response to How's it going then!! MLC

4:58 PM  

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