Poetry, is as large as life, and death in life, and life in death. It is even larger than life...as humans know it. Poetry is perfectly capable, of reaching 'divine' spaces, of communicating with spirit, as well as flesh.
Poetry evokes wonder, horror, sadness, comedy...and love, and beauty. Poetry, is soul seeking expression, and it touches us, at so many many levels. Poetry is likewise, as collective or individual as the many beings, who may express themselves, through its medium.
Poetry is the, unraveling cursive, of 'the word'. It is the 'raveled tale', the 'ball of yarn'...the curious kitty played with, the 'enigma divine'. To pull the string of poetry, is to ring the chimes of God. It sounds silly, to express it that way, I suppose, but there is 'more than is dreamed of', as the saying goes.
There are schools of thought, involving poetry, and like 'mainstream media'...they have rules, that lead to dogma, and the mire of the literate...or those who think they are.
Then, there are, the trails amid the wild, the rills of water sound, and bird tweet, and tree sough's...ant crawls, bee calls...mole meanderings, and pondering's on maundering's, of notions where, they never go, nor ever will...the 'poetics', that think they are.
They just end up 'stuck', in same old trite and shallow phrases, that they always were. Reach out! Grow! I say, GROW! Forget yourself, forget the rules, and go! Go, where you never had before, and trust...unto the glory of the word, for, like a little child...it will lead you, there.
Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico
Art: Going as a yarn ball, google pic
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