23 January 2019

Rhymes with Polk

another beer won't make a difference
another pint won't let me down
another bottle tossed to my way
another chance for me to drown

  Why poetry?
  Long ago, I was a rather capable wordsmith. My younger years were filled with awards and citations for my ability to communicate with both the written and spoken word. I was a voracious reader and I enjoyed distilling that information while I was at school to no end. I actually found peace in the pursuit of knowledge until I didn't and then things changed. Part of that life was poems, short stories and other musings but I had long since given up hope of ever rekindling that love of words as the darkness enveloped me and I lost direction with abandon. 
  But of course, you know I found my way back and here we are.
The original question remains though, why poetry? It isn't particularly clever and often isn't good, but it is a very large part of how I deal with and process events in my life on a daily basis.  I like the way the words make me feel when I can fit them into a pattern and craft a narrative in 280  characters or less, although I often do have to start a three or four tweet thread to accommodate a larger one. The tenor and voice of each poem reflects what is happening to me at that very moment, they do not sit waiting for a particular special time to be published. I don't hoard them and to be honest, they seem to come in bunches and despite the fact that I know they get lost in the void, I would rather they exist that way than in what would feel like a false time to me.
The muse is often beer
Of this I am quite certain
The drunker that I get
The more open the curtain

  A world where I can express my inner thoughts with poetry is one where I seem to not be so anxious, so tired and so down. It lifts me in a way that getting drunk used to and when I have gone to long without finding a way to create something from this ordinary life. I sometimes can be crude and other times reflective, but always I seek words that will bring the ravenous beast in my head to heel. It lunges from under my happiness and snaps at my heels as I work to stay one step ahead and above ground. These are not just words and rhyming, they are stanzas that shield me from the worst I have inside me, trying to get out. The flow from line to line and seeking words that work is part of the purity I find when inspired to create. It is never just about what is written, it is the fact that I can write at all that means the most to me.

Strike hard upon the corner
Cap falls quickly to the ground
Pour gentle with a soft hand
Then raise up and drink it down


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