Thursday, February 23, 2006

Roses are Red

I finally made the journey to see my mom in Brunswick this past weekend. The blizzard the weekend before prohibited me from going as originally planned.

Brunswick hosts an annual event in February called Longfellow Days. Brunswick celebrates the poet by hosting poetry readings around town and in the schools. Mom and I attended one such reading on Saturday.

I found it hard to sit through the poets' reading. Their words sort of drifted pass me. I find when listening to the written word, I am a better reader. Maybe that's why I enjoy reading blogs so much.

I write my experiences in this blog. This blog contains my thoughts about the world as it whirls around me, but if you want to see into my heart read my poetry.

Yes, that is an unabashed invitation. Prose can bring out a person's soul, but generally not my prose. I don't claim to be a great poet or even a great writer. I like writing and poetry is therapy.

My poetry contains my heart or my heart at a place in time. Because I write my emotions in verse, I generally won't post poems until some time has gone by and perspective has set in.

Shouldn't the essence of the heart be felt in music, lyrics, poetry, stories, photographs, paintings, and sculpture? Shouldn't a poet be showing his essence in his poetry?

4 comments:

dahlizyx said...

RE: the last paragraph. You'd like to think, but I'm not so sure. xoxoxo

Neil said...

Thanks for the opportunity to see some of your poetry. You're talented. And it gives us new insights into you by seeing what you write.

my0p said...

how wonderful to read, mariemm3, somehow I had overlooked the poetry blog (what I have read so far is just fabulous). When it is all quiet in my surroundings, I will go back and read more!

Erica said...

I have to admit, I shy away from poetry most of the time, no matter who wrote it or what it is - because it's hard to understand sometimes, and because it's so intimate and personal sometimes. I always felt, in school, that we were being forced to accept that a poet meant THIS by his words, when really, he could have meant anything; he could have been literal; he could have just been pulling random words out of his ass. Not that he WAS, probably, but he COULD have been, and that view was always discouraged by our teachers. :-)

But I will read your poetry because (a) I kind of know you :-) and (b) I know I can ASK you what it means. Thank you for sharing!