“You can't force it intellectually. You spoil the poem. You mess it up. When you've worked through to the real poetic level, the connections webbing together every single word are quite beyond intellectual arrangement. A computer couldn't do it. You've got not merely sound and sense to deal with but the histories of the words, cross-rhythms, the interrelation of all the meanings of the words—a complete microcosm. You never get it quite right, but if you get it almost right, it insulates itself in time. That's why real poems travel.” —-Robert Graves
Back into the Poemtstric Swing of things.
Thinking about why we do these things we do….
...because I have to start somewhere. And April is the cruelest place to start. And I am a glutton for self-inflicted cruelty. Like making myself finish one poem a day when I can barely bring myself to write one word a day. Because why not? Because I need this. Because I need this more than I need all these other things. Chinquain of Starting Is this as important as all the other things that I must also be doing? It is. Here's to hoping I don't write a bunch of crap. ...keepin' the Po in NaPoWriMo...
…over at Poemtstry…..
…voicing the hours.
One of my poems is up over at I am not a silent poet.
I don’t usually write “protest poems.” I try not to be too heavy-handed with what I write plus I’m lousy at getting anything done in a timely manor. Sometimes though, events drive me to react. Usually with anger that I have to work through. Every once in a while, something like this happens.
You should also check out all the other work over there.
Great protest poems.
Giving voice to the voiceless.
Letting the unheard have a hearing.
Poetry that says something.