I am NOT your Sonia Sanchez, your Langston Hughes, your James Baldwin or Maya Angelou. In fact, my name may never find itself uttered among the world greats. And I’m fine with that. No, I LOVE that.
Not ALL poets are poor, but I think the best ones are. They are the people who still keep notebooks, who carry life, love, frustration, and pain; an endless conglomerate of emotions, a pencil and pad in their purses and suitcases. These people write during lunch, on blog posts, and between rocks and hard places. They are not baptized by the lens of cameras and they publish books because they want to read them.
Yes indeed, poor poets are the best. Though money can be made, I wouldn’t recommend someone dedicate poetry to a career that forces one to write or be restricted to certain topics. I think a good poem takes patience. That one must wait and listen. As a career, this may require one to write on demand. This, I believe, robs the poet of all sincerity, and degrades the passion of his piece. Rainer Maria Rilke said it best:
“To be an artist means not to compute or count; it means to ripen as the tree, which does not force its sap, but stands unshaken in the storms of spring with no fear that summer might not follow. It will come regardless. But it comes only to those who live as though eternity stretches before them, carefree, silent, and endless. I learn it daily, learn it with many pains for which I am grateful: Patience is all.” – Rainer Maria Rilke
“Better are those who hide their wickedness, than those who hide their wisdom”
Like angels are playing on the strings of my vocal cords. Words that cannot remain unmoved or concealed however introverted I am.
What’s YOUR poetry?
“Success is when righteous angels are rooting for you.”
“I’m really starting to enjoy short poems. Though you tease my taste buds with instant melody, how deliciously enticing.”
Like music swallows its bass inside the belly of the loud speakers their stomachs growl,
but they ain’t really hungry….
they just come to see what all the commotion is like….
they wanna know what all this poetry stuff is but……
they ain’t really hungry……
they just wanna see how pretty her pain is.
• Dirty Diapers and Complaining Husbands
Oh you know the feeling. You make yourself a cup of Joe, get back to that switch button, and for the next 8 hours or so (hey, that’s pretty modest), you’ve taken yourself a mini vacation. Where are you going? Who knows, somewhere between Character Development and Turning Points; your only problems are: screaming kids, annoyed husbands and microwaved dinners. You’ve been at that computer so long your one year old knows what a Setting is, (and it’s not from the soggy Wheaties in his diaper either). Your husband has brought over his annoying friend for company (yes, the one you can’t stand), and your nine year old has painted her face pink and red at your distracted consent. Now, I want you to pay attention now because this is important:
The writer herself (yours truly), has neither one year old or nine year old and what you’ve just read is a list of completely made up events but, the fact that you’ve spent the last two minutes glued to these words in order that you may verify this condition is reason enough to count you among the worthy so take a bow, I now present to you the following prescription:
CAUTION: If you’ve counted my every grammatical error I’m sorry but Grammatical Geeks is for another day and this prescription is not for you.
YOUR NAME HERE
WRITER ADDICTION RELIEF 500mg Tab
TAKE ONE TABLET BY WRITING/TYPING EVERY DAY FOR WRITERS BLOCK
***TAKE WITH INSPIRATION