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Posts Tagged ‘the poet’s house’

I like poetry and I believe all poems are good. Some poems are a badge of honour or an emblem of courage.  Most poetry  I write is my  attempt to say the unsayable.  Some of  my poems really hit the nail on the head, with others I just hit my thumb, and some are just a collection of words that may never see the light of day. 

What I have found with poetry is that it is possible to write something that is universal, something to which everyone can relate to, yet at the same time address some personal desire to express emotions and feelings.  Poems are really just doors between the soul and the outside world.  There is something unique and humbling about writing a poem that opens a door for other people to walk through and see something previously unseen. This is an experience that can never be undone.

Here’s my story of how I write poetry and how fortunate I feel to be able create and open doors for people to walk through. Poetry challenges us as it requires us to let go of  reason and lose ourselves in words. During this process we can sometimes find parts of ourselves that we may have misplaced somewhere along the jorney of life.  What is it that you have misplaced?  How will you find it?

The Poet’s House

At the edge of reason
Inside the poet’s house,
There lies a walnut writing desk
With dusty books upon its shelf.

Through the dreary window of his soul
He feels the maddening wind,
The trees that bend and break
The leaves of paper fall in his bin.

The wind whispers as it wanders
As it walks around the room,
It’s pockets full of pensive hands
It’s voice is full of doom.

We speak our lies, the truth is dark
There is no light to save,
Your words will never blossom
Your garden is a grave.

Will the poet listen
Or turn towards the light,
At the edge of reason
On this wild and windy night.

An angel breathes life into his words
He rolls them around his mind,
The musings of his restless heart
Will make it out this time.

The words fly fast
His pen scrawls across the page,
Back from the edge of reason
The poet has centre stage.

The poet is finally complete
Exhausted, he feels so blessed.
A smile forms on the poets face
His heart and soul at rest.

The poet lives and writes at the frontier between deep internal experience and the revelations of the outer world. There is no going back for the poet once this frontier has been reached; a new territory is visible and what has been said cannot be unsaid. The discipline of poetry is in overhearing yourself say difficult truths from which it is impossible to retreat. Poetry is a break for freedom.
~ David Whyte

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