Committing to the challenge of Writing a poem a day through This month sometimes feels like Welcoming a difficult guest, one I Revere and even adore, but who Makes incessant demands on my Time, almost all waking moments Even when drifting off to sleep ______ I must confess being a slave to Vanity, seeking the clever words While avoiding the verbose ones Searching for “untrammelled” my Mind only supplies “uncontrolled” An unfortunate recent reminder of Exploding bombs; shaking off Shivers, I reach for poetry’s salve ______ A poem is not mere tessellation Interlocking each idea to another Repeating shapes without a gap It breathes in the spaces around Every word, breathing out images That not just ripple outwards and Towards the heart of the reader But become libations to the sky.
"It's such an open, wide landscape," said Kristin after a moment. "You can see so far from Husaby, and the sky is so ... so vast. Where I come from, the sky is like a roof above the mountain slopes. The valley lies sheltered, round and green and fresh. The world seems just the right size neither too big nor too small." - Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter
Do poems pressure?
Who demands, urges, pushes?
Your poems bless us.
"It's such an open, wide landscape," said Kristin after a moment. "You can see so far from Husaby, and the sky is so ... so vast. Where I come from, the sky is like a roof above the mountain slopes. The valley lies sheltered, round and green and fresh. The world seems just the right size neither too big nor too small." - Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter
Good one