A Poet In The Making

Like all art, poetry is opinion. I am of the opinion that "everything" is poetry. Yes, even bad poetry serves a purpose. I've learned more from bad poets than great poets. They can be used ...

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Like all art, poetry is opinion. I am of the opinion that "everything" is poetry. Yes, even bad poetry serves a purpose. I've learned more from bad poets than great poets. They can be used as a point of reference for what NOT to do when composing a poem. All artists have something to teach other artists. It's important to absorb everything. The good, the bad, and the extremely ugly. And there's more than enough ugly to go around.

You might enjoy Emily Dickinson, while I find her dry as toast. I might adore Charles
Bukowski, while you find him crude as hell. No matter. There's a poet for everyone,
and an opinion for every poet.

Most people hate poetry because they resent being made to feel that they aren't bright
enough to understand what the poet is saying. Secondly, because it simply bores them to tears. I have friends who did their impression of a glazed doughnut whenever I was stupid enough to mention poetry. They hated poetry. I made them my target audience. It took some doing, but I managed to turn them around, and even have them asking for more. I write poetry for people who hate poetry.

One of the reasons I agreed to become "expert" at LongIsland.com was my high hopes for connecting with other poets on the Island. So far, I have not met one. And the poetry readings seem to all be held in the city. Any poets out there? Drop me a line.

I leave you with one of my poems. Peace.

Landscape

Time and time again you walk through
my walls and find me. Landscape shifts,
and maps must be rewritten. Hidden paths
lead to the church I built before there were
words to pray.

The sky falls, heavy with rain. You want
the thunder in my hand. I make a fist and
hide from you. My bones are scattered in
hard to reach places.

I stretch my arms and the moon becomes
your face. Stars sit on your shoulders while
the truth stands behind you. I gather stones
in baskets made of dreams.

You promise me forever, and keep one eye
on the open road. I decide to love you through the night and part of tomorrow.