 Poetry: August 28, 2024 Issue [#12714] |
This week: Mindworms . . . Earworms Edited by: Fyn  
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Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought, and the thought has found words. ~~Robert Frost
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. ~~Carl Sandburg
A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language. ~~W. H. Auden
Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. ~~Thomas Gray
When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses. ~~John F. Kennedy
Always be a poet, even in prose. ~~Charles Baudelaire
It is the timber of poetry that wears most surely, and there is no timber that has not strong roots among the clay and worms. ~~John Millington Synge
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Like a bit of a song that gets caught circling in your mind, for me it's always been fragments of poems. They take up residence, sitting there spinning and spinning, like an old phonograph record that hits a scratch and keeps repeating itself.
The words find themselves being insinuated into everyday language, because, for some odd reason, they just seem to fit a plethora of situations, subjects or reactions and thus seem like the answer to some unasked question.
For example, Robert Frost's 'Nothing gold can stay.' In and of itself, a first reaction might well be, 'And why not?' Why can't something good stay good? Everything doesn't have to wilt, die, or tarnish. Much will. But not everything! But then, it just seems to fit so many situations. Even as the 'unspoken' part of the line which is to appreciate things while you have them, be it a thought, a moment, or an experience, seems to be a concept all too often ignored or discounted.
So too with Frost's, 'The Road Not Taken,' and its concluding lines: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference. For me, this is the definition of my life. I have always colored outside the lines. I didn't follow the expected route my folks so carefully designed for me. I went my own way, chose my own path. It speaks to me of choices made during our lives and how each choice, each decision, for better or for worse, indeed, makes a difference in the who we are and become.
The majority (by far) of those who were my friends in high school went on to get advanced degrees, worked in academia, did extremely well and, by now, are happily retired and doing the things one dreams of in retirement. My hubby and I are still working, tossing change in the jar to save for vacations every three years or so and muddling along. We laugh. A LOT! We are happy. Not carefree, perhaps, but happy. I'm good with that! Choices made make me who I am and I'm good with that too!
This: "The Rose That Grew From Concrete" — Tupac Shakur
“Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.”
I've learned that absolutes can be broken, that I can do more than ever I thought I could. Tell me I can't and I will try my darndest to do it anyway. That just who I've grown to be.
'Slip within the crack that lies
hidden between yourself and your self
veer not left nor to the right
and find your balance there.' ~~Julian Lee 
Took me years to figure this out. Then to find someone so succinctly put it to words.
In quiet moments words spiral in my mind and these have been the ones to surface, float and, sometimes, fly free.
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Monty  says: Robert Frost lived most of his life in MA. and VT, he died when I was 23 years old. I was in the Army then and my Mom sent me the clipping. He wrote all kinds of poetry but once said free verse was like playing tennis with no net. Much of my lines of rhyme are I guess with a net.
YUPPERS!
Beholden  writes: Lovely memory of a great poet. All my knowledge of writers came at publication's length, always at least a continent away.
Certainly the far more usual way!
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