Its been a month since I started writing poetry. It has been very fulfilling, but at times a curse. I’m starting to think in verse. Its been a strange journey. I’m not sure exactly where my poetry comes from, but there it is. By my count, I’ve written 34 poems in the first month. I still don’t know what the technical rules for writing are. I still wonder at some of the things I’ve written. To be sure some of it is contrived and amateur. It just flows out. An example from this morning: I was doing a little reading and came across the word “pen”. A few thoughts went through my mind, none of them poetic. Then I wrote the words “The pen” on a blank piece of paper and this is what appeared:


The pen is an unformed repository of words

Not like the keyboard designed for nerds

The poet unleashes another day

Words are nourishment, not just something to say

Let your mind go free, your heart will be strong

A little chaotic nonsense won’t take long

For the seeds of serenity to grow,

The words of the poet are something to know

The structure of the verse is inconsequential

Feelings, emotions are the foundation of sensual

Breathe, release, breathe, release, all will be well

Embrace the new day, many stories to tell


My thought: “ask not what the writer meant when he wrote it, ask how you felt when you read it”. Have a day filled with joy and wonder.

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