Poetry

Yesterday's post was a poem about writing poetry, and the joy I get out of it. The poem actually started as a free verse, so I am posting the original today. I like the revised draft better, but they both express my feelings about writing poetry.




When I can sit and write
Forget the world, and who I am
Define myself in ways unaccounted for in
Conversation
The poems flow through my fingertips
Easy as bathwater drifting down the drain
Fragments of me come off and find themselves
Buried in the poems. Locked into the words and unable to get away
Thoughts can fly as free as birds
Unroped, into uncharted lands
My life, my soul can fit
Into a string of lines-poem
Of the universes
Stars dance in my palms and butterflies kiss
The first grasses of spring
My poetry defines me
Those letters strung together are the puzzle of me-myself
I feel free with my computer screen
Or a notebook and some shady grass
A pencil is my wand to wield
When faced with danger, sadness, black days
The journey to self expression
Is just beginning