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A Poet's Lament
This
is a book of poems that I thought suitable for poets who have
been writing for a few years. Sooner or later, we all get writer's
block or wonder why we write poetry or we try to explain what
poetry is about to some friend or even to ourselves.
After thirty or more years of on and off writing, I realized I
had a modest collection of poems that examine these questions
and attempt to explain what the whole process is about. This book
is that collection of poems about poetry.
Some of these pieces are quite old and some are less than perfect
as poems but they nevertheless address the subject. After a bit
of study, I have organized these poems into four loose groups.
What is Poetry? - This group of poems examines the nature
of poetic expression. How does a poem speak of the author, what
content is suitable for a poem and how does the author see himself
as the agent of poetic expression.
How to Find a Poem? - The dry spell is an eternal problem
for any writer. The poems in this section examines and 'Laments'
the loss of inspiration and inability to create even if a few
ideas are present but can't be formed into a coherent poem.
On Being a Poet - What does it mean to be a Poet? Well,
I've never been quite sure and these pieces reflect my best guesses
over the years. I am sure the reader who writes regularly will
identify with one or two concepts presented in these poems.
Critique
- We are never as good as we think we are. The poems in this section
speak about being gentle when offering critique and the final
poem pleads for 'kindness' from those who read "my carved
wooden bones".
---
Whenever
a poem is ripped from my soul,
a new one forms to heal the wound.
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The Painted Word
If
you look closely at a word,
you see the artist's pencil lines,
the layers of paint, the shadows
that make it whole.
If you
look at two words together,
you feel the artist press
his soft brush onto the canvas,
his lips just moving to confirm
the colour of his mind.
If you
see all the words at once,
you hear him breathe
the shadows in, the colours out,
and beneath it all,
the whisper of his heart.
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