Does Your Poem Suck?

A helpful article if you're trying to figure out whether that poem you just wrote truly sucks!

WORD UP: For Beginner Poets: How to Know If Your Poetry Suc...: Written  by   Ami Mattison   Poets at all levels of experience worry about whether or not our poetry sucks.  Often, as we contemp...

Midwife of Words

People sometimes ask me why I write poetry. A fair question especially when I contemplate the time I spend mulling over my thoughts. Yes I must spend, minutes, hours, days even, swirling thoughts around in my psyche, feeling their energy flow this way and that. Sometimes its good energy and it resonates with a lulling harmonious rhythm that sings to my soul. At other times it is not so good energy. It thrashes around my inner house leaving emotional devastation in its wake.  The mind monkeys enjoy the feast. They love a good story another drama that will perpetuate the cycles of unhealthy behaviour.

I guess the act of writing allows the energy to flow, to move from that void within where it has been spiralling round. It enables it to flow outward. To take form. No longer lost within those dark depths the words can now dance across the page. Black on white, darkness finally meeting light as a poem is born. Birthed by the poet; the midwife of words. 

Giver, Taker, Matcher, Faker

Are you a giver, a taker, a matcher or a faker? I guess the truth is we have all at some point in our lives been all four.

Adam Grant on Givers, Takers, Matchers and Fakers. An interesting podcast that discusses why we should all strive to be givers.

Who Are You?

In life
There are Givers
There are Takers
There are Matchers
There are Fakers
Which one are you?
Me?
I've been all four
And the doormat
At the door!

Almost a Quintilla

Out walking this morning I felt the first breaths of autumn upon my face and as I contemplated it's arrival it whispered a poem in my ear. Four syllables less a line and it would have been a quintilla.

The Hawthorn Tree

I feel the chill of autumn faintly here and there,
Whispering lullabies within the morning air,
Go find your golden robe and stunning crimson dress,
And as a final touch, certain to impress,
Sow rubies in your fading emerald hair.

Unlocking the Poet Within

My relationship with Stephen Fry is improving. I no longer feel like hurling him across the room accompanied by an ode of expletives!!

Clutter by the Metre

And now Clutter hopefully abiding to the rules of poetic metre!

Clutter

Detritus of modern living,
Seals me in, fast, unforgiving,
Each day another claim for space,
Card city grows at endless pace,
Spilling throughout the white walled room,
Harbinger of impending gloom.

Clutter

Back to my own unique poetic writing style a poem about a subject a little too close to home!!

Clutter

Trapped amongst the detritus of human life,
a battle is lost, chaos resides,
Empty boxes like skyscrapers rise,
and unfiled papers fill space,
where dinner once presided
Each morning ever more junk arrives,
deposited by postie's daily incoming tide
Materialism, consumer driven,
creates more waste, to fill
that once uncluttered space.