Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Poetry In Motion: TimeOutTuesday 2/21/12

The first time I wrote a poem, I was 5. It was the simplest of poems ~ a roses are red, violets are blue sort of thing.


I'm almost certain I wrote it in kindergarten to a Latino boy named Chris on the back of a Halloween card just before the costume parade.


(I could be wrong about his name, its been almost 40 years since then!)


In high school, I wrote poetic love notes to crushes who couldn't differentiate a haiku from sushi or since we were all in Samoa at that time, they couldn't tell the difference between a stanza & spam (the real SPAM not Treet & not the crap in our inboxes).


I wrote long poetic posters of love *snorts* to at least several celebrity movie stars (Ralph Macchio? Who understands that one? But yes I was crazyinlove with him back in the early 80's) and pop stars.


As I got older & more worldly, I wrote verses of emotions all through out college. Some of it dark, some of it tortured - all of it powerful.


I wrote To  myself. To my lovers. To my son. To my empty bed. To a life filled with hurt & anguish & anger & broken hearts (theirs not mine). 


Mostly it was poetry about fighting to live free & love free. 


(I choose my own choices & therefore I choose my consequences.)


And then one day (it may have been night)it just stopped.


There was no more poetry in me, no rhythm or catchy rhymes. It just wasn't there any more.


Honestly the last time I wrote anything resembling poetry was 1997 - the year before my life exploded into itsy bitsy embers.


The writing became long form essays, short form essays, shorter forms of shorter essays until one day - that well dried up too. 


There were no more words in me.


Then there really was nothing for many many many years. The longest thing I wrote was my name on a check.


Until last year. 


With the encouragement of friends & family ~ I picked up my proverbial pen & stared writing again. Writing. Not just signing my name or jotting off Facebook rants or notes to friends but writing. 


I also started writing to friends - not emails which are also very lovely & immediate but writing to people using a pen & paper (mostly a pre-made card) and mailing it at the United States Post Office (I have a love/hate relationship going on with them right now).


The more I write, the more I have to write. It seems to me like the lesson I learned in love ~ the more I love, the more love I have to give. 


I see that as with most things in life, if you don't use it, you lose it. 


All the talent in the world isn't going to do you any good if you don't practice it every day & use it.


So I'm going to see if I've still got some poetry magic in these old fingertips, aye?


There once was a pig named Phil.
All he could do was shrill
Other pigs oinked 
and other pigs boinked
But Phil shrilled till he zoinked.


Yeah. I'm thinking...I'm more than a little bit rusty there. 


(Hahahahahaha!)


With love & delicious poetry~
Cy.


PS. This one is for real:


I walked along life's road
where I waited for you to come
the hills rolled by 
and the mountains loomed large
and still you didn't arrive.

I knew you were there
walking your own road
wondering if alone was all alone.

What more could I say
but please keep on?
I'm here!
I'm Here!

Just keep on going!



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