I’m not much of a poet, never have been and probably never will be. That’s not to say that at times I wish I had the soul of one. You know, their dedication and courage to commit stuff to paper that dances around in their head. I know this because I too have stuff dancing around in my head
The thing about that is, I’m not a good dancer either. I’ve seen myself in the mirror. I might be able to hold a beat for a little while but then I either feel too self conscious to really let myself go or realize it’s something I shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. People have told me that at times, it ain’t pretty. I’ve learned to live with that.
But then again, I ain’t doing it for them.
Or am I?
Here’s some words of advice that I’d like to offer up to some of those newer members of our flock when it comes to the subject of poetry. Please don’t take it as a criticism, more like a friendly caution.
Is it the baring of your soul
with tear stained paper and ink?
Is it something to reflect upon
And gives pause to make one think?
Is it the tale of a broken heart
just waiting to be mended?
That was crushed beneath the lovers’ heel
For whose charms you once contended?
Or maybe it’s true love
the one that can’t be torn asunder
That travels across space and time
on wings of innocence and wonder
But maybe it’s the flowers
Or maybe it’s the spring
Maybe even the dead of winter
Or maybe the birds that sing
Could it be the sunrise
That brings forth inspiration
Or could it be the moonlight
or some type of morbid fascination
Maybe the twinkle of the stars
And maybe the gust of wind
Maybe the saga of days gone by
Or for those that you have sinned
Maybe it’s the mood you’re in
you feel the need to capture
Loneliness heartbreak and despair
Or ecstasy and rapture?
See, the subject is too varied
to cover all the bases
There are just too many stories to tell
And maybe not enough places
So to all the budding poets
To the balladeers, the bards
Be careful what you write about
Sometimes it isn’t in the cards
But tell your story anyway
Nothing ventured, nothing gained
Just beware the consequences
for the effort might be stained
See, what defines a “poem”
it isn’t up to you or me
Anonymous voters get to decide
If it’s almost poetry
(I should probably leave this kind of stuff to another member of the family)