Poetry

I love words.  They are the sweet smelling playdough I squish through the fingers of my mind to make shapes and soft noodles in peony pink and gem blue and grass green and sun yellow.  Words can be wrought into whatever thought or feeling or moment happens to be upon me, real or imagined or feigned.  And with these letter layered bits I build all kinds of things.  Faces and food, buildings and bodies, prayers and pots.   

I have always loved words.  Anyone who has ever met me knows I am rarely at a loss for them!  So long have I played with words that it has been almost without me noticing that I have become a person who writes poetry.  The path from strict, grammar rule following, school English teacher to rhyme tossing, sentence splicing, fragment loving fiend for free form and thought has been so much fun!   

Dictionary.com offers a definition of poetry I really enjoy. 

1.  the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts.
2.  literary work in metrical form; verse.
3.  prose with poetic qualities. 

I just get high on the thought of rolling in rhythmical composition and elevated thoughts!  When I think of such things I am reminded of dancing.  When I was a child I longed to take dance lessons.  But being in a rural part of Georgia in the early 1970’s offered no opportunity for dance education.  I did however, have the presence of music offered by my father, a professional military musician.  I often copied what I saw and heard in Disney or Broadway musicals.  I made up movements to black vinyl circles spinning under a needle releasing sounds for my joy.  Little did I know that my dancing would someday be done with a pen.  That’s what poetry feels like for me.  A swirling dance not limited to the abilities of my limbs but opened to the expanse of whatever my mind can think and syllables can express. 

I am finally becoming fearless enough to let others see my creations.  After letting my collected poetry, clay-like thoughts sit out on the table for a bit to dry and solidify they feel permanent, real.  I look forward to continuing my love of words, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure for myself and hopefully a bit for readers, too, as I work toward putting my poetry in the public sphere.    

                        See Her Love

                        See what I love as I dance it dances around me draping
                        scarves of joy over my bare
                        arms swirling my love (me) in stripes
                        of color.

                        See what I love as I rest my head on silken pillows (me)
                        beside the breathing, silent
                        rest from parted lips returning heaven
                        to the sky.

                        See what I love (me) in the act of loving.