pic by me by poetry journal |
Were you one of those in class who cringed when the teacher said it was time for the poetry session of English?
Not me. I loved that session of English class. The words, the flow, the feel, the open meanings.
Oh wait, I forgot, we were supposed to explain what the author meant. What the author was trying to tell us, make us feel. Yeah, that part I was always way off in left field.
Then there was writing your own poem. We had to follow the rules. Now, I’m a rule following gal, except in poetry. I hated those rules. Sure, I understand it’s learning the different types. The methods on how to express myself. The strength in finding the correct word to fill both the rule and the meaning and the feeling. They always felt forced to me. Almost fake.
Now, I can’t say why others hated poetry. Maybe it had something to do with being too flowery, too hidden meaning, too lovey-dovey, too much of just being too much. Perhaps even irrelevant to what we were living and experiencing.
Let’s go back to the hidden meaning behind a poet’s words. Because I was so out in left field this is where my marks went down. I rarely agreed with the textbook teaching. But, what I found worse, was given an assignment I was marked down a point because the teacher felt I just threw in a line for rhyming need only and not anything else.
If I had been less a rule following gal, I would have fought and explain the teacher’s error instead of accepting. I would have stood up for my work.
With that said, here’s the poem…
What is Poetry Starts?
…poems and prose from now back to teen years
…remembering a first writing love
…pumping the creative well yet again
…silencing the internal critic