I’ve been reading poetry lately. Yes, yes I know. Nasty habit. All those feelings and thoughts expressed in just a short space with precise words. But sometimes when things feel too close to heart it is nice to know that others have felt them as deeply.
Now I am not saying that such things can not be expressed in prose. Of course they can. However, as a poet myself, I understand the need to get a sudden intense feeling down on paper. Really you are just trying to express things that hit you hard right in the heart.
I often don’t even have the words for whatever it is I am feeling until I start to write them down. And it can be about anything. Headaches, coffee, heartaches, sleeping children, dreams, simple musings, cats sitting on your feet…I’ve written about them all. (Okay, all except that last one. But I have a very soft fluffy white cat putting my left foot to sleep right now, so I should.)
In fact I’ve written two or three poems just this week. Not that anyone else will ever see them. I wrote one to express frustration, one was a random musing on sanity, and the other… Well, okay that one did end up on face book but it was only a few lines about a headache that wouldn’t go away.
I love poetry that echoes things that I have felt before. I love elegant uses for words. I love harsh slashing phrases that bring feelings to life. I read Keats, Wordsworth, and Shakespeare but I also seek out newer poets too. It is the words I am interested in.
I don’t know why I am surprised when I find out that some writers I know are poets as well. I am, my dad is, why can’t others be? Writers play with words all the time. Words are treasured friends. Is it really a surprise that when we feel things deeply that words are what we turn to?