Anyone write poetry?

[poetic harpist]

I started about 7 or 8 months ago. I think I’ve got about 210 poems so far. Mostly in English but a handful in Irish.

[poetic harpist]

bump

[snoopy lee]

I’ve been writing off and on for four years, but you’ve already written twice as many poems as I have! Care to share one of your favorites?

[poetic harpist]

This one is “True Love True Loss”:

He may not have meant me to take it the way I did

Robin Williams once said that true loss is only possible if you love something more than you love yourself

Loss is unnatural — as people, we are not to lose
We were never supposed to lose anything
We are to know no feeling of loss

We love and we do so in abundance
In surplus even
And ultimately we are to love ourselves supremely

We are the apple of our own eye
the object of our own affections
the auto-pursuit of our own searing desires

As we love ourselves supremely, beyond all measure
beyond reasonable doubt and beyond doubt unreasonable
then how on earth could we ever love anything in excess of this?

For you see, true loss is only possible if you love something more than you love yourself

If you truly love yourself, then truly you have nothing to lose

[snoopy lee]

Hey — free verse! (That’s what it’s called, right?) A lot of my poems come out that way, too. I like yours a lot.

And I know you didn’t post it for feedback, but I wanted to say that you’ve made good use of spacing here and I really appreciate it! Some free verse poems that I’ve read are disjointed at odd places, which may be okay to some people, but just makes the whole thing feel unnatural to me. I think it’s important to emphasize each part of the poem and not cramp it, but the writer shouldn’t chop it up either. You made this easy to digest. I like how it is plainly written, yet is still thoughtful and reflective.

So are your other poems in this style, or does it vary? I don’t know anyone in my life who writes… I’m really curious (and maybe over-excited). Sorry!

[poetic harpist]

It’s rare that I start with a particular rhyming scheme, or any kind of idea at all for how to write a poem.

Mostly I just write the words as they come to me.

[hearpe]

I used to write some – I never got far trying to get them published back before the internet and e-books. I read a lot of poetry-my favorite is “Jaberwocky”

Here’s a very short one I wrote in 1985, the year before my “birth”.
somewhat telling I think:

We grab me out of thin air
And pull me closer
to the invisible infinite
to disappear

Well, not my best- but maybe shortest.

[hearpe]

Anyone doing much poetry recitation to harp?- I’ve got a great volume o Irish poetry I’ve thought about trying to “score” somehow, But downloads take so long now that I’m getting more decrepit.

[snoopy lee]

I’ve never been able to plan my poems either, they like to write themselves. If you want to share more poetry I’d love to read it!

[hearpe]

I found this one that mentions harp long before I ever took it up

5/20/87

Within the trees
the wind is a gentle sound
with invisible fingers uncounted
caressing the leaves with a beckoning lilt

From afar you hear her coming
swirling in sedate serenity
A wispy ghost musician
delicately touching her forest harp
dancing as an unspoiled child
linear with invisible ageless purpose
and yet always with a personage and mood all her own

The wind and I have had many conversations
although it is not English she speaks
Her accent is the scent of her perfumed foliage
that resonates with the chirping of her winged children
As she lifts them from their timber, to timbre

Within the trees the wind has a lover:
The water and rain from the sky
Here they merge and linger
And as he dews, he dresses her in hues
As they nurture all their forest children
and all the forest life

Yet, Within the City
The wind becomes a force
As through the rigid corridors
of brick and steel
She is funneled and stampeded
To buffet in vain all that’s sturdy
And to rock and shake all that yields

Like a cat, she’ll pounce upon you
her exhausted claws attacking your eyes and nostrils
while she shrieks and moans
abetting the voices of the roaring warring dinosaurs
that swirl and twirl and scatter her
to here and there (like common air!)
and stain her tones
with the burnt blood of their own

Within the city
The wind and water are seldom more than passing strangers
The water is quickly channeled
to the gutters and sewers
or whipped and bounced by her caged animal fury and frenzy
To prematurely evaporate and disappear
back into the misty clouds on high
she drives with impunity across the cloudy sky.

• This reply was modified 7 years, 2 months ago by hearpe.

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