In Defense of Poetry

I want to place an idea in your head. Like an old theater running candy advertisements between film frames, I want you to walk away from this post with an urgent desire to satiate a craving.  Although I suppose my plan is slightly more altruistic rather than greedy or diabolical since I’m notifying you before-hand, and I’m not trying to trick you into purchasing anything.  Okay, I admit, maybe the whole subliminal messaging metaphor wasn’t the most practical, but it sounded cool in my head…so here within the post it shall remain!  I do however, wish to share my appreciation of poetry, and maybe even kindle an ember of courage in the creative heart of a potential writer or two. In a simulated conversational exchange between me and far too many people I speak with, the dialogue might go something like this:

JMD: “Do you like poetry?”

Response: “Oh, it’s not really my thing.”

After that, the expression on the persons face is usually dismissive enough to get the point across that they’re not comfortable discussing the reason poetry isn’t their thing.  Other times, the person will explain that they “Just don’t get it.”, or they don’t have anything to write about…either way, the reason is enough for people to stay as far away from poetry as possible, and since I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, I usually stop right there.  You’re still reading this, so I’m going to assume you’re still interested; and yes, I’m familiar with the notion of what that makes out of “u” and “me”. 

Anyway, I’ll assume that since you’re still reading this, you actually want to hear my opinion, so here it is.

Saying you don’t like poetry conjures an image in my head of a toddler declaring a hatred for all vegetables (give or take the foot stomping depending on tonality). What do we say to the pint-sized dictators we adore so much? Try it again. As we grow, our tastes change. I believe you when you say you hated it in school. I get it. I bet you also never imagined the term “comfort-waist” would’ve been the selling point of those pants you only wear at home. Try-reading-it-again!

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/ and http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/565

I also find it hard to believe, REFUSE to believe that anyone living in a world where we share so much of our lives with others through social media websites would even try using the excuse of having a lack of material.  The pic you just posted of the shoes you “Can’t live without!”?  That #TBT snap shot of your one-eyed dog ‘Lucky’ that tragically died when you were twelve? The “#worstdateever #spinachinteeth #pleasefloss” tweet? Great material! Jest, of course, but the point is that anything important enough to create a pause in your busy day is something to write about. Whether or not you share your writing with others is completely up to you. 

The appreciation of written art is what matters.

Now here’s another poem I wrote:

Breathless

A wisp of almond hair

Falls across your forehead.

You lean playfully against the door.

If only my chest were the frame.

The world fades away

As you cast your gaze

Not once showing mercy.

I cannot breathe.

I imagine a kiss,

Or a hand on my cheek 

Lust of a thousand-

Setting my skin aflame.

Eyes like a river

I’m taken by your current.

Gasping for air

Pull me under.

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