Poetry Thursday - Coming to a Blog Near You!

So far, I've been holding back from fully participating in Liz Elayne's   Poetry Thursday . Feeling a little shy - I'm a painter, more than a poet - but also knowing I'm already having difficulty keeping all my bowling pins in the air. But I've been enjoying reading everyone  else's entries so much. Finding lost loves; discovering new ones. Sometimes, what the soul cries out for is a poem. So, what the hey! Throw me one of those bouncy red balls! Why not?  I'll juggle that in, too.

Poetry Thursday has asked that we write a little bit about our relationship with poetry. As a little girl, I loved poetry. The Owl and the Pussycat. A Child's Garden of Verses. Anything by Dr Seuss.  Oddly enough, The Highwayman and The Raven (both of which I remember memorizing, on my own, in the third grade - about 8 years old...strange child that I was!)   I even  hazarded writing poems myself.  The first one I wrote was "Daisies Are Dainty" when I was around 6 or 7 years old:

Daisies are dainty,
and quite quaint,
But when you smell them
You almost faint!

Though when you smell a rose,
you're being nice
to your nose.

Well, at least my mom really liked it!  :>)    I continued periodically to pen a poem - especially when feeling some great wave of teenage angst wash over me. Then in high school English class, when we moved from short story writing (which I loved) to poetry...I got cold feet. I was frozen. I argued passionately with Mrs. D. (poor, dear woman, wherever you are - please forgive me!) that poetry couldn't just be written on demand, taking syllables and fill in the blank spaces. Poetry had to come from the heart! It should be spontaneous! What if I'm feeling like free verse, when the assignment is haiku? I don't know how she put up with my nonsense. But that's when I stopped writing poetry. Period. Though I would read it still, especially to my kids, when they came along - it was like monitoring a former spouse during parent/child visitations; poetry and I were civil, but estranged.

Till just a few years ago, when Bonnie and I visited a literacy festival at a local community college. There was a poetry slam. I had no idea what that was at the time - but we were tired and there were chairs to sit in near the stage so we sat down...and watched. and listened. laughed. cried. gasped. As person, after person, poured their hearts and souls out through the rhythm of their words. I loved it; we both did.  Poetry and I began to reconcile our differences.

We're still in the process of working things out between us. I haven't written anymore poetry yet. And I'm not sure, if I did,  I'd be brave enough to put it out there for others to see. But at least I can read it or listen to it,  and let myself feel the magic again. And for now, I can share some that speak to me. My taste tends to run to the sweet; to the innocent - but occasionally, I have my wild child moods, too.

Today, I found this watercolor collage card I'd made, back when I sold my work at a little local gift shop, The Mouse House, which is gone now. I always liked these little guys, though and they make me think of  The Wood-mouse   by Mary Howitt. Especially these verses:

In the Hedge-Sparrow's nest he sits
When its Summer brood is fled,
And picks the berries from the bough
Of the Hawthorn over-head.

I saw a little Wood-Mouse once,
Like Oberon in his ball,
With the green, green moss beneath his feet,
Sit under a Mushroom ball.

I saw him sit and his dinner eat,
All under the forest tree;
His dinner of Chestnut ripe and red,
amd he ate it heartily.

Though the berries also make me think of the opening lines of Marge Piercy's Colors  Passing Through Us:
           Purple as tulips in May, mauve

into lush velvet,  purple

as the stain blackberries leave
on the lips, on the hands,
the purple of ripe grapes
sunlit and warm as flesh.

I hope poetry and I can work things out. We're in counseling now :>)

Comments

[Melba]

That story made me think of the first time I had to recite a poem at a play when I was in second grade. Thanks for the memory! Love those little cards and hearing your story. I am looking forward to reading one of your poems.

[Imelda]

I can tell there's a great affection there between you. That counts for a lot! I was honoured to be one of your Everyones. I always love visiting here (and there is much poetry in what you write), and enjoy having you visit with me.

[liz elayne]

this made me smile...you and poetry in therapy together...so glad you shared this....and that i traveled through your posts to find it :)