Considering … Poetry
During the early years … that time in my life I fondly refer to as “formative” … I was a poet. I use the term loosely, of course, because the works I churned out were awful – riddled with teen angst, social commentary (I was quite the little activist back then), a very poor vocabulary … and an overall lack of any style or form. But at the time, I thought they were marvelous. They were about me, you see … my own ideas, opinions, emotions. It didn’t really matter if they were any good. They were written as a form of personal expression, with no greater purpose in mind.
Of course, once I entered university and learned about technique, I abandoned the art of poetry for lengthier pieces … short stories, prose essays, even the start of a novel (one I’ll probably never finish). As an adult, I write poetry only when the mood and inspiration strikes, and once again, only to express whatever I happen to be thinking or feeling at the time.
Still … some of my later works have provided me hours … days … months of fulfillment. I even have a few pieces that I returned to on and off for years. These works are most often intellectual rather than spiritual pursuits – studies in language, form, rhythm, symbolism. They may boast a stronger vocabulary than my poetry of childhood, but they won’t be winning any prizes. I’m afraid I simply lack that talent for distillation which some possess.
Luckily I look on poetry as just another form of personal expression, not unlike my rather sub-par artwork. It makes me happy for a time, inspires my muse, gives me the chance to express myself … experiment … step outside the box.
I’ve compiled a short list here of some of my better works – what I would consider my favourites. They are merely passable examples from a vast collection of drivel. Enjoy!
