It is also too easy to think ‘this is what poetry is,’ or ‘this is the kind of poetry I like,’ and then stubbornly cling to that notion for the rest of your life. To you, all I can say is here is an opportunity to transform and add a preciousness to every moment in your life--to see the world as a sea of meaning in unending waves of metaphor.
Poetry is the seed, the flower, the soil, and the sun. Poetry is a window into the soul of humanity across all cultures and all sense of time. Poetry is that punk kid in the corner of the room who blows us all away with the words cast about with reckless beauty.
Poetry is work, and if you don’t, poetry won’t.
What do you think of this poem? Why do you think I wrote what "I" wrote and then used the poem below as your first poem to read? Comment below in a thoughtful way. Post to here and to the discussion thread on Schoology.
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
prurient philosophers pinched
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
them only with