Indigenous in apathy,
A caliphate of calories,
A slew of slinging sliders –
A parent who, apparently,
Fastidious in fasting,
Was never late, but never there,
And last in being
Even when I deliberately write what I think of as vaguely musical nonsense, people will see meaning in it.
As a poet, this is ideal. Poets are supposed to have no idea what we’re saying, but say it in such a way that everyone else does.
When it comes to having no idea what I’m saying: I have that part down. I even use that skill in real life. As to people having some idea what I’m saying, that occasionally happens, and I’m extremely grateful.
One of the most interesting things about writing poetry is when you try to write about a feeling you yourself have never had. For example: I have an extremely pronounced fear of dogs – one would call it a phobia. I am not fond of dogs. Yet, were you to look at the “Most Liked [Posts] On This Blog” section of my homepage, you will see, there at the #2 spot, a piece called “Old Dog”, which was about how my wife saw her dog.
Next up, for my 2020 Writing Project, after this month of “Poetic Essays”, is a month called “Mood and Character Pieces”. I am not entirely sure what I meant by this, but I think “Mood Pieces” would be about me and “Character Pieces” would be about everybody else.
I know a lot of characters and have a lot of moods, so I shouldn’t lack for things to write about it.
I choose the photographs or illustrations that accompany these pieces based on a pretty simple criteria: namely, that they move me in some way.
The one above is interesting to me, because it is not a beautiful house – it would be seen by most people, objectively, as being rather ramshackle – but it is, to me, a beautiful picture.
I’ve heard it said that the beauty we see in things can only be as big as the beauty we bring to things. And maybe that’s the key to understanding poetry. It works when we can see our own experiences in it.
Or, maybe sometimes, when it creates an experience we carry with us from that point on.