write poetry

springtime
was in the air
red wing blackbird

singing
cool breeze
warm sun

my father’s voice
still in my head
i could remember it then

i stopped
to go fishing
it reminded me of him

all these years
later
i remember

the sun
the breeze
on my face

but i cannot
remember the sound
of his voice

I have been writing poetry sicne I was about 11 yrs old I have not for some time now around 4 yrs. I am 28 now so It will be hard to get back on that horse. well on as far as i was anyway I cant wait to be good enough to like my own work. the usual suspects like it the wife the parents. I havent shown anyone else the things I write though.

when i was in high school i used to write poetry. for school asignments and loved it then i started to do it because i liked it. when a thought came to mind i would just write. and write and write. Man did I ever love it.

A girl in love
Intentions pure
Yet secrets kept
A ring concealed.

Where once there were
Intentions pure
This girl in love
Temptress revealed.

I don’t write poetry that often. This one was written 6 months ago in response to a ‘temptress’ writing prompt. It’s what I was going through at the time, and now I feel like history is repeating itself. At least this time there was no ring.
Ugh.

I’ve just started reading the third edition of ‘Writing Poems’ by Robert Wallace. It’s a really well written book, and I’m excited for what I’ll learn from it.
I write haikus about nature, but I want to branch out more. I also want to focus on being more illusive about what I’m writing about. Imagine the topic being in the center of an onion. I’m writing about that center, but from three or four layers away from it….
Well, something like that!

Living in Alaska, there is no end to the inspiration!

seems right at this time, jibes with Tai Chi and journaling, GTD and putting Facebook out of mind. A creative healing. Another avenue to growth.

It’s been so long since I gave you freedom
because it’s what we both needed
advice from the heart gone unheeded
but not what I wanted us to become

In the words of a great writer
Now that I have lost everything
I am free to do anything.
I only wish that my anything was her.

I’ve worn yarns around my fingers,
glistening from far away.
All its tightness make my hands tingle.
You gave them to me like an offering.
You’ve unwound them from your head.

We draw near, at times we grow far.
the friction of revolution rubs every strand.
We go around in poles, almost not meeting each other.
Still, we are wound together.

i want the ability to arrange words in a beautiful way with meaning… even if i only write one good poem, i’ll have done it!

I’m ok at the odd funny rhyming poem, but I’d love to be able to write meaningful arty poetry. I’m going to set aside time every week to practise.