Telling

“Which poem have you read that you would have given anything to have written ?”

"Do you write poetry when you are depressed, sad or angry or do you need to be up to write? The best poem you ever wrote was when you were_______?"

"Do you tend to write more during a certain time of year and do you like to write about one season more than another, if so which one and why?"

"When writing either poetry or prose, are there ever certain words that should never be used, and if so what are they?"

No one should ever utter the words depths, soul, and darkness in any poetic statement and certainly not together in one poem and absolutely NEVER in the poem in the same stanza on the same line.

I swear somebody needs to bring batteries for the flashlight because if it this darkness hangs around my soul will get trapped in the depths of a cliché so horrid I may just have to take that cyanide tablet I bought for when I read the Wastelands.

Bear

My current favorite word is orchidaceous tied for 1st place with saturnalian. I can't think of a least favorite word based on sound but hate is onetry to avoid whenever possible.
Bear

Thanks for the opportunity and for making me think. =)

Lynn

WriterAdvice Managing Editor, www.writeradvice.com
Small Press Review (Dustbooks) Reviewer
CWC Columnist
====

Favorite words:
peace
joy
love
please
thank you
yes
interested-in-pursuing
please-send-us
pleased-to-inform-you
amazing
welcome…

Least favorite words & one initial:
unfortunately
no
hate
gunshot
bomb
sneak
violence
manipulation
stupid
ignore
w…

Cacophony as it describes the world full of people and things with their concomitant sounds. Ilsa

THE ASSIGNMENT WAS FOR, "OUR MOST HATED WORD (S)"

WELL, IT'S "YOU KNOW" YOU KNOW, AND LIKELY LIKE “LIKE,"

There are many poems that I really like, except there is something that a lot of them do which I do not like. It seems like a lot of poets either like to do this thing naturally. Either that, or they likely don’t even know that they like to do this or that they do it a lot.   I mean, like all the time.

My dislike is this: I really don't like to use like to introduce comparisons like, "like," (like when you don't really need to introduce an image or a metaphor, but, like, you know, you decide you would like to do so anyway, so you... "like," do it)!    Without question, the way we individually like to use "like" is... well, its like, you know, a matter of opinion.   It just seems to me like most of other ways of inserting or initiating a metaphor will… (a least for me) likely, be done better by writers who are so much smoother and, like, better, than I likely am, but then, I can't help liking the obvious pun so I'm like, "No way! I don't like “like” used like that. And, you may know that I also don’t like "you know" (which, may in fact, be another word habit that, much like "like" could use… you know, work). And, it isn't as though people in general, you know, most of us insist on the use of "like." Well, maybe, you know, not insist, but, like… most of the time.

But most of the time, I think people (you know.. like you) do find that using “like” is likely to be, you know, the case. But then, that’s like the way lots of people like to use like; you know… like every time.   I know! I know! it is difficult to kick the habit... it's, you know, addictive!   Some people are so bad, they do it every time they need to inject a pause in their speech... like, you know, now… so they say, “like”.    It's like their brain has, like, you know, withdrawn.

But, I think I'd like to stop. I’ve probably gone on to long; like, you know, the way most people like to use like makes me not like what they say when in actual content it may be, you know, likely and lively and likeable. And, this can be likely even when, you know, you think you are likely to you know, do it.

I hope that you don't like liking things like this; it can, on occasion, be quite un-likely and (on such occasions) cause things which will likely cause someone to dislike liking the things that I like, or maybe even you, although I know you think this is not likely.

However, I am, you know, likely aware that you would probably not like for that to ever happen, like, you know, to the you.   But, you know, it is in fact possible. In fact, you know, it's sometimes probable.    But, you know, let’s, like, hope not! You wouldn’t like for me to not like you, you know, or if you did then, you know, you might not like me... you know! It could get so bad, you know, that it might even be likely.   But... I'd like to not think about that... you know.

© like Jim Lyle 06 you know

"What originally attracted you to poetry, and at what age did you begin writing it?"

You ask about when we started writing poetry.   When I was in the third grade, the teacher (whose name,
bless her heart) told us for our English assignment, we were to write a poem (she had been reading some
poems in our English lessons) and hand them in the next day.   The next day, she then had us read them
to the class.   I had written:

THE FLY

You can bet your life it's spring
When the church bells chime and ring;
You hear a fly buzz
Like a fly always does
You can bet your life it's spring.

That was my first. By the way, you should know that where I grew up... we had no flies in the Winter; it
was too cold for them.   The new spawn of flies from eggs previously layed, was.. in fact, a sign that spring temperature
had hatched the eggs... and they were upon us. The image of the church bells?....   I have not a single inkling where or why that line, except it allowed a rhyme.    Give me a bit of licentious... err... license (I have all the licentious I need).

The next day, the teacher sent a sealed envelope to my Mother. In it, she told my mother I was going to be a poet. I
wish she had lived long enough to grade my work when I was trying to full fill her prediction, but she was already gone
when, late in college, the bug bit me.

By the way... later on in life (and still) I detest the use of "like." It is my opinion that any image which needs
"like" to alert the reader that you are going to give them an image (metaphor, symbol, etc., etc.) probably not a very good choice of word or term.   I try to never "like."     Like, you know, it is like, not very strong, is it!   And that is rhetorical which is another device I try to avoid when and if I am smart enough to realized what I've done, or failed to do.

Jim Lyle

PROSE VERSUS POETRY

I’d like to discuss the difference between Poetry and Prose. It’s a question everywhere where Poets and Writers get together. I am involved in this question. I attempt to write Poetry; I am, on occasion, asked to read or recite Poetry, and I am published as a Poet by legitimate publishers.   But I also have those same stripes as a writer of Prose, and since I frequently do both in the same book, or at the same “reading,” I am asked (sometimes challenged) and often confronted by the question, and by counter opinions which I did not request. As it happens, a majority of the time my answers don’t satisfy, and in the converse, many of the answers which are given to me also fail in terms of my satisfaction.

So, what is the difference? Is there a difference.   Well… Yes, No, Maybe, Sometimes, and Not Like you wish there was.

Let me declare, and in so doing, eliminate a lot of the standard rhetoric; the problem is like day and night.   Day is light, and Night is dark… well… yes, except sundown and sunset have to be admitted; after that, binary parsing fails. Yes, I do in fact believe that Poetry and Prose are on the same scale! Sampled at the some given times and circumstances, they are not binary opposites; they are both parts of one continuous gradient circular spectrum.   And very much like night and day, there is no exact definable line of demarcation. Every “poetical” device will, on occasion, occur in Prose, and vice versa. The overlap of night and day gives us sunrise and sundown. The thing we call “Poetry” may be done on purpose or just “happen” with out any aware intention on the part of the writer. Conversely, Poetry can be, and at times is, very “Prose” like.

For example, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address is great Prose, but it is also an awesome example of Poetry. And cultures other than our own have cherished Poetry forms and traditions which differ radically from on and other.

“Oh!”, someone protests, “but it doesn’t rhyme.” Right!   So what.   Rhyme can be very nice, but then so can repetition. Neither is the sole factor or arbiter of “Poetry.” But, do I think there is an answer? Yes? Did Lincoln use this thing called “Imagery?” Yes! and let me stake ground early. The very thing I am going to suggest as the answer can occur in both Prose and in Poetry.   I know that may be confusing, but stick with me and the fact that I’ve already told you that it is a gradient.

Again, please remember day and night.   Day is the opposite of Night. Male is the opposite of Female. We have Prose and we have Poetry…   but aren’t we blessed by the way they fit together?

I promised you a standard. The standard is what Poets call “Imagery.” It, in fact, is not tied to vision alone. Possibly a better word would be “Sensory,” but the convention is “Imagery.” Any time you write Poetry, the use of words that incorporate physical referents, smell, vision, tactile sensation, these are “Imagery” and are the standard tools of poetic construction.   But they are also the great spice in good Prose. Yes, it is confusing, but, if you will pardon the pun, it is very apparent once you see it. Unfortunately, some people can never relate, and it always hard to grasp when you’re just starting..

Try this, most of us have seen black and white (positive and negative) picture puzzles which look like a total confused mis-mash until your brain/eye suddenly sees the object which was hidden in all the distraction.   And wasn’t it interesting that once you saw the “it” in one of those puzzles, you usually can’t ever look at the puzzle again without seeing the image?

Poetry is much like that.   Athletes train and train so that their bodies can feel a movement. Actually we all do it.   Do you have to think about putting the next foot forward when you’re walking? Does your fork make it to your mouth without specific thought?

I could go on all day, and never convince those who don’t see, but this concept of patterns has it’s own name for those who work with it; it has a German name, “GESTALT” and it central to what is called “Gestalt Psychology.”. This “essence,” this “thing” that is “the thing,” this Gestalt thing, this “sensory” thing in poetry is an attempt to communicate a “feeling:” thing using words. I sometimes think and wish that the common practice would use “sensatory” rather than “imagery;” but, it is not the practice.

I often use this thought experiment: Think of the most beautiful sunset you can remember.   Pull the memory up; why it was the most colorful, or most dramatic, or the biggest, or just “what” made it your own most wonderful Sunset.   Now try to describe it to someone. Try to help them see what you saw. Not easy to do. Wonderful, Stupendous, Brilliant, Colorful, Spectacular will only give your audience one bit of understanding… and little or no understanding. They may know that it had an effect on you.   Problem is, communication requires that they also get (and hopefully, that you know they got) at least a bit of your own personal experience.   They need to see, feel, taste, smell, touch, or some how experience your Sunset. The poet needs to give the desired experience whether it is love, hate, like, dislike, attraction, offense, or what ever the desired emotion may be. Not easy, and no, not well done and not often done.

And telling people that it was the most beautiful sunset that you have ever seen, won’t gain much ground.   If that is all you do, all you’re really telling them is about your self and how you felt.   It is the normal attempt, but it doesn’t give them “your” rainbow. And, academic analysis of poetry and forms will never give us a Sunset.

“Beautiful” is a good word, but it only does half a job.   O.K. you think it was beautiful but so far “they,” the people you hope will understand, may not know what you consider “beautiful.”   My “beautiful” may not be your “beautiful.” If you want to truly communicate and pass your gift, you must find some way to let your reader understand the effect it had upon you.   Poetry, no matter how beautiful, inherits the same problem as the sunset: neither are stable, neither can be frozen in place, neither will ever be captured or caged. We must taste them and thrill from them even as they and we change.

Ferdi Goffe, the American classical musical composer, who wrote the “The Grand Canyon Suite,” has in that composition, a musical “movement” called “The Storm.” Mr. Goffe does “explain” or “label” or “analyze” the storm; he gives us an incredible musical storm. Interestingly, the fact that your reaction to a storm may be different than my action no longer matters. We both have a “storm.”

One final premise: all true artists give us more than reality. Whether they paint, compose, sing, dance, write, build, or dream…   all must communicate… but to really “create” and “matter” they must change, stir, enrage, sooth, wound, heal, etc.,. etc, etc. They must cause people to create, in their own mind and experience, at least some part of the emotion the artist deposits in and as their art.   Ultimately, that… only that is the measure which calibrates and warrants all of the Arts.

© Jim Lyle Sept 05

The poet that turns me off the most is Maya Angelou. I hate to say it but any poet who has lowered their bar to write for Hallmark card needs poetic reality check! Also Amiri Baraka annoys me ever since he wrote the annoying 9/11 piece with the owl metaphor...

I love Billy Collins and I think for imagery Yusef Komunyakka consistently blows my mind and of course Susan Browne.

Ciao,
Bear
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

THE POET I LOVE WAS/IS Rainer Maria Rilke whom, of course, I read in translation by Stephen Mitchell. His “interpreted world” is at the crux of my own relationship with the world around me and speaks to modern humanity’s love/hate relationship with beauty (dark and sweet).

When Rilke wrote of the everyday things of life, his descriptions were clear/recognizable, but not literal (and didn't strictly come from, I think, or belong in the same dimension as that occupied by his readers). They evoke, sublimely, color, structure/shape, torment, and passion. Anyway, that’s what I think.

Marshall McLuhan was every bit the poet of his age although I don’t think he ever wrote anything he (or anyone else) called a poem.

Mark Jacobs (6 April 2007)

Mark is a librarian at the University of Wyoming in Laramie and a native of the State of Kansas. He has had his poetry published in a number of small presses in several states.

Hi Cynthia,

Happy Poetry Month!

I don't know if you want responses to "which poet turns you on and why?" in poem-form, but here's a ghazal that tries to figure out why I love Gerard Manley Hopkins:

To a Young Poet Resisting Hopkins

Don’t even try to understand the logic of a line
that rises on wing-feather to achieve lift of line.

Song is what takes hollow bone and makes a wing,
leading edge of wing, wind-hover adrift of line.

Blind-bright sun on feathers will give shape
to flight. Translate that, its fine sift of line.

Now you have music. Meaning springs from language
like a fledgling full-formed on the shift of line.

Here’s longing sprung from brooded egg, broken
empty shells, the bare-bone body, shrift of line.

Take flight, leave the shell behind. Unfurl
these wings to sail, spendthrift of line.

My favorite literary publication is Tiny Lights, A Journal of Personal Narrative, which has both twice-a-year print editions and monthly online editions. Susan Bono, the intrepid editor, devotes her magazine to the essay. The writing is crisp, concise and clever -- no mushy sentimentality or excessive adverbs litter the pages. To learn more: www.tiny-lights.com. Arlene Mandell

My Favorite Literary Publication and Why, She Says

That would have to be own Taproot & Aniseweed.
Of course that’s shallow, self-serving, egotistical and self-promoting all at the same time.

But let’s face it, with Taproot & Aniseweed, I’m the Chief McGee, the Prime Mover, the Editor Without Boundaries, the CEO, CFO, OFO, and IOOF doorman, keyboarder, stamp and envelope licker, layout guru, art director, label-maker, photo scanner, censor, art director, detail forgetter, and chief critic.

I also get to run Spell Checker several times, align all the rule endings, watch for widows and run-on sentences, make absolutely no money at it at all, actually operate it as a sinkhole of energy and expenditure, and mainly, I’m the chief “Decider”
(to use a George W. Bush word – Is that clown for real or whut?)...
I get to “decide” if there will even BE an issue this month, or NEVER AGAIN!, and will it be single-sided or two sides, now that it’s been downsized to 8 1/2 x 11, having been
11 x 17 for so long I’ve lost track...

Now with this much fun....oh, yeah, when my HP printer craps out, I get to fix it...seriously, do you know that I actually remove some of those rollers and replace those little teeth that keep the sheets aligned prior to ejecting paper sheets flawlessly out into the back tray?

Welp, there you have it. The Publishing Mogul has spoken.
I’m sure I’ve left something out...Oh, yeah, Ad Space, filler material, and font styles, I get to “decide” on those too...No wonder George W. Bush is such a busy man, he’s underpaid for all he does...I’m telling you, being a publisher is a kick in the pants!
And, I get to select who’s gonna be in my Page 2 killer column, Coolest Stuff On the Planet...if you haven’t been seen there yet, send me some of your coolest stuff and watch the snail mail (sorry, T&A by snail mail only) for a future issue.

However, there is a bundle of other literary materials I like to read just as much, but they don’t pay me for my opinionated attitude, so Cynthia, you can send that BIG Endorsement Check you promised me to P.O. Box 234, Benicia, CA 94510, and hurry, I’m working on the next issue of T&A 6 and T&A 5 is going in the snail mail even as we speak.

And what other publication do you know that has such provocative initials in its abbreviation? Tease and Afghanistan?
Tarts and Almost on time?...e-mail me some brilliance and catch you later...thanks, PetrBray@AOL.com .

Taproot & Aniseweed (T&A)
P.O. Box 234 Benicia, CA 94510
http://www.peterbray.org
http://www.sonador.com/pedro

Now

by Alegria Imperial

now’s a sound, a

hacking

in space a rhythmic

splicing

a phantom hand

scythe upright

in greed

cutting in swaths

—its mode a sharp embrace:

no sweetness

there

now’s a push but no

sudden one, instead a

jabbing

in the skull

a stabbing not for blood

but eternal

jiggling swaggering

a relentless dribbling

of words and water to whet

though never—

that’s how it feeds

a pattern scissoring

now is

a space splitting blankness

into 'then'

and 'later ' bulking up

with what’s decayed

one row what’s nothing

the other

only now knows

a pulse but not

the kind on which

life hangs

now’s a beat that

threatens a breath

this fragile silk

now snaps in two

once the known now

the unknown

Alegria Imperial, Vancouver, BC, Canada

I write when I get inspired, which is usually when somebody else in reading their poetry. Hearing others read is really the only way I am ever able to write.
Barry Toffoli

When do you write? I try to write at least an hour every evening. The time tends to vary because of the intrusions of "real life." However, I even sleep with my laptop because you never know when a poem will walk in the door and kiss you or slap your face or both.

“When do you write?” she asked.
At first I wanted to say, “Always,”
but that wasn’t true.
There were times that I ate, slept,
worked and thought about interplanetary travel to and from this planet Earth, or at least around the block.

The rest of the time, I wrote.
I wrote at 4 am, on a note pad
while the computer was booting up.
I wrote in a work journal during the day after or while completing some task in one of ten thousand locations.

I wrote in someone’s backyard
when a new leafsucker that I bought
nearly nuded a tree in the Fall
with a single suck. Wow, was I impressed!

I wrote on the tailgate of my truck or front seat if that’s where the nuances and perplexities of life intrigued me into scribbling down my thoughts on paper.

I wrote when there was no paper, on a 2x4 block or paper bag, business card, or in a Letter to the Editor when mediocre politicians perpetuated their lying stupidity on the human race and onto those too confused, cynical, or labor-efficient to impeach them.

I wrote in general and hoped
that the world and I might get better from it.
The jury’s still out on that one and the challenges are still immense.

©Peter Bray 2/7/07 all rights reserved
www.peterbray.org
www.sonador.com/pedro

I write whenever the inspiration hits me. If an idea pops into my conscious mind from my inner spirit, or if I see or hear something that triggers a poem, I must immediately get the thought transferred to paper, or I will lose it. If I am driving, or otherwise unable to write it down, I repeat the basic idea to myself enough times to remember it, then grab pen and paper as soon as possible.

As I am an early riser, the wee morning hours are the best time to write, revise, type, search the internet, read articles, etc. Every writer must choose the time of day (or night) when they do their best work, and schedule a regular work space within that time frame.

Faye Adams
De Soto, MO

Yesterday morning at five AM, which is when most of my poetry comes to me, I awakened to see a heart shaped ray of light on my bedroom floor. I looked out the window and saw a heart shaped moon (a cloud was in just the right place to make it look like a heart). This is what I wrote in approximately ten minutes:

THE HEART OF IT ALL

Awakened before dawn,
A heart shaped moon peeked through my shades
Casting a shadow of light on the bedroom floor.
As I gazed at this surreal scene
A drifting cloud crossed over the surface
And the moon became round once again.

February is the month of hearts
Sweethearts and Valentines
and human, beating hearts
That thump with the breath of life.
Red is everywhere
On cards, on pins, and decorative displays

Reminding us that the heart is vital
To life, to love, to gentle ways.
Startled by the light,
Aware of this magnificent sight,
My heart goes out to everyone
Suffering on this frigid day.

Warmth is the hearth of our hearts,
Empathy and tenderness,
Reaching out to others in need
With prayer and every good deed
Showing compassion
Like moonbeams lighting the way.

Comfort for broken hearts
overflowing with hurt,
Listening to the center
Of one's very being
Ticking away time with every beat
As night turns into demulcent day.

Oh, dear heart, what can I do for you
To help you attain your heart's desire?

Floriana Hall - February 6, 2007

How Has Poetry Changed My Life?

I was a freelance illustrator
in the early 1970s. I was listening to
all of Neil Diamond’s early works.
His “Solitary Man” knocked my socks off.
Especially the lines,
“...Don’t know that I will
but until I can find me,
a girl that’ll stay and won’t play
games behind me,
I’ll be what I am, solitary man, solitary man...”

Here was a man expressing himself
with internal rhyme patterns.
I was hooked. I studied and listened
to everything he wrote.
Then Paul Simon, Billy Joel,
Leonard Cohen, John Fogarty, John Prine, Jack London, Walt Whitman, Robert Frost.
Add Anne Murray, the Pointer Sisters, Joni Mitchell and many more. Lately Chuck Bukowski and practically all of Bob Dylan:
“Fat man looking at a blade of steel.
Thin man looking at his last meal.
Hollow man looking at a cotton field
for dignity.
Wise man looking at a blade of grass.
Young man looking at the shadows that pass.
Poor man looking through painted glass
for dignity.”

If one could collect and read
all the poetry of the world,
the world would be a better place.
Poetry and song are
the illumination of the human spirit.
If all politicians, pedophiles, racists and bigots had to write poetry, we might have a better world.
Think about it.

©Peter Bray 2/22/07 All Rights Reserved
except Neil Diamond and Bob Dylan lyrics

Changed my life

It hasn't I'm still single, I still having to look for work every so often because my jobs end, It hasn't erased or righted anything that happened to me, in fact poetry while a means of expression, has not helped me answer any my internal question about the nature of who I am. It clouds stuff up in metaphor that people can understand or see. So you think you’re being all open an honest but really you’re just hiding behind archaic nouns and obtuse verbs. It’s all a total sham. I came into this thinking it wow you can say so much and realized I say a whole lot of nothing. People never understand what I mean and laugh when I’m serious during a reading. Even reading Collins, or Komunyakka does nothing for but make me think of ways to be more confusing then they are. It’s ridiculous, this “word art”. I get so frustrated sometimes that I want to chuck my computer out a window shouting to the sky, “Hey, Walt, that’s how you create a metaphor!”

Barry Toffoli

How has poetry changed your life? It hasn't poetry has been my life because I have been living it for so long I cannot imagine it any other way. I could give up breathing easier.

Quite aside and beyond the vast new circle of friends and experiences, it has given me a thing I love to do (both the writing and the reading), a way to council myself and analyze my own problems, an amazing peace about the things I have worked out by working is this mirror we call poetry, and a treasure which is always young even as I grow old. I can no longer conceive living without poetry in its place.

Jim Lyle-Yountville, CA

Poetry gave me a voice when I thought I didn’t have one. I began writing letters to my best friend and my grandmother at age nine. My parents, brother, sister and I moved away from the community in which we had lived since my birth. I was lonely in the new neighborhood, had no friends, no one to talk to. I began to write all my feelings on paper. I wrote to the friend until she was married and had two daughters. I wrote to Grandmother until she passed away. By that time, I was a married woman in my late thirties, with four children of my own. I had also gone beyond writing letters and begun to write poetry.

I can still write a good letter, but poetry is my primary outlet for expressing myself. I am more able to express my deeper feelings on paper than verbalize them. When I am writing poetry, I can say anything I want to say and no one talks back. I can express my faith and no one scoffs. I can vent anger, regret, sorrow or any other emotion I care to include. I can write satire or humor. I can criticize individuals, governments or concepts I don’t agree with, use abusive language and get it all out of my system. Because these expressions are on paper and not yet floating around to poison the air (or someone’s heart), I can then reflect and decide what is worth sharing.

Faye Adams-De Soto, Missouri

This morning I counted the total number of poems in my electronic poetry file: 421! I started this file 20 years ago, but have been most engaged in writing poetry since I retired 7 years ago.

What would I have done with all those ideas and images and emotions, the angry rants and soulful meditations, if I didn't have poetry?

On the cork board behind my computer I've pinned an index card with the question: What does the last stanza, last line, last word add to the poem?

Silently I add the words: to my life?

Arlene L. Mandell-Sebastopol, CA

I have always loved poetry. Even though I write both free verse and rhyme, I especially like rhyme. As a young child, I enjoyed repeating nursery rhymes-- they were 'fun for the tongue.' In elementary school, I wrote short verses, but these were lost in the many moves our family made during The Great Depression. I have kept a scrapbook of high school (graduated June 1945, Cuyahoga Falls High School Distinguished Alumna) favorite poems with biographies of my favorite poets. My all-time favorite poem is TREES by Joyce Kilmer.
     While I was busy raising my family of five children, I did not take time to write. However, when they were grown, I found myself looking for some way to make a difference in the world. Two weeks later, I was inspired in church by what the pastor said to write my first published poem, LOVE NEVER DIES, which won the Editor's Choice Award. Since then, poems literally 'pop' into my head at random, mostly at five o'clock in the morning, or at church. I have written and published at least 600 poems.
     I believe that poems tell stories, make people laugh, or become an outlet for heartache. Poetry sometimes is a frame of mind, a need to express something from the heart, a longing to be heard, a calling to change chaos in the world. Poetry is the ability to express the feelings we have as we connect to people and the universe around us. It also can be said to be a form of therapy, a medicine instead of medicine.
     As a poet's, I try to paint pictures in the mind of the reader, and create the mood desired through my choice of words and pauses for emphasis.
     I find beauty among heartaches and headaches. Poets, including myself, walk in the darkness unafraid, without a care, trusting God to bring us through. With pen in hand, we reach within causing words to flow. We bring to life places others may not have seen, and reach out with simple or complicated words, hoping only to touch another's soul.
     I firmly believe that my poetry is a beautiful message to others, and makes words sing.   I hope my poetry will give pleasure, inspiration, or whatever is needed to the readers. ENJOY!

      Floriana Hall-Akron, Ohio

What Poetry Means to Me
at the Back of the Bus
or Something

Poetry is like...
An itch I need to scratch.
A breath I need to take.
A cough I need to make.
A shore on a much greater lake.
A friend I need to take to lunch.
A prologue to all the above
and so much more.
This list is trivial
but it's a start.

©Peter Bray, 2/1/07 All rights reserved