This desn't fit here, but anyway . . .

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

A Poem lovely as a Tree

UYS

Arghh!

Fourth grade
A bunch of brown skinned girls with scraped knees, dirty jeans and pony tails were forced to listen to an Anglo teacher read this poem. One little brown girl found comfort in the words of the poem. She grew up, and now, she is me.

This piece blessed my ears at nine years of age, and besides nursery rhymes and the good Dr. S, it was the first poem I memorized. Wonderful moment, I'd forgotten about it. *tear*

 

[greenmountaineer]

Poems are made by fools like me/But only God can make a tree.

Only a poet can express the inexpressible. Experiencing God isn't expressing God, and the experience itself is precisely inexpressible. A poet is tasked with expressing what's by definition inexpressible. Everyone has moments of inexpressible bliss, at-one-ment with the Universe and the unicorns. Only poets try and communicate that feeling in the special language that evolved precisely to deal with inexpressible experiences.

This sums up well my thoughts on the nature of poetry. Believers would say "expressing the inexpressible" is prima facie evidence of God's existence; non-believers would likely add that it's just another manifestation of how we are programmed to adapt to the environment, that is, "survivial of the fittest" includes striving towards some perceived ideal.

No matter. Either way your post brought me back to that first experience of writing poetry in the third grade. In its inception it was like a spiritual experience, an incantation. However, the more I attempted to "express the inexpressible," I wrote it down, re-wrote it, and probably re-wrote it several times again, and in the end, recognized it to be, as you said, "a special language." While I can appreciate poetry combined with other artistic expression (I remember a particularly nice haiku Esperanza wrote in an illustrated poem, and I'm partial to many Billy Joel lyrics), there is something "special" for me about poetry, oral and written, that stands alone.

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

It's so difficult

for me to express what poetry does to me. I feel overwhelmed by the complex milieu of rich words mixed in simple rhythms, or simple words mixed in rich rhythms. Poems sing in my mind, owning life with a beat. Most times, after I read a rich poem, I write a paragraph so I am sure I understand the author's meaning.

Then many times, I simply sit at my desk and cry, marveling, how did they do such beauty in so few words?

Damn, I am getting all choked up about it now. Surely, this is the poet's heart at work in me?

Now, I must develop the acumen. It's too overwhelming in me not to. I can't help but try and sing the rich rhythm's of my heart, along with the silly sarcasm in my mind.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

There is a saying that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but I don't see it as such the only silliness occurs when it goes wayyyyyyyy over the head of the person it's aimed at and they have to have it explained to them!

 

[bronzeage]

do you not find poetry in a sunset?
the wordless voice of the sea?

One can find poetry in a sunset, but let's hope the voice of the sea is not wordless.

Forging words from the senses is poetry. Without words it is not a poem. It can be something beautiful and an infinite number of other things, but it can't be a poem.

 

[butters]

One can find poetry in a sunset, but let's hope the voice of the sea is not wordless.

Forging words from the senses is poetry. Without words it is not a poem. It can be something beautiful and an infinite number of other things, but it can't be a poem.

wordless, but not meaningless

perhaps, with the sea, a sunset, a certain smile, it is an unwritten poem - an unpoem - as yet to be translated into man-words.

 

[bronzeage]

wordless, but not meaningless

perhaps, with the sea, a sunset, a certain smile, it is an unwritten poem - an unpoem - as yet to be translated into man-words.

There is no image without meaning. The poet's job is to take an image, whether it is visual, heard, felt or tasted, and convert it to words. If the job is done well, a reader can reassemble the image in their own mind.

 

[butters]

There is no image without meaning. The poet's job is to take an image, whether it is visual, heard, felt or tasted, and convert it to words. If the job is done well, a reader can reassemble the image in their own mind.

yessir !

 

[bronzeage]

yessir !

Titian moonlight bathes
you pink alabaster on
silver sheets as I
wish to be brush and canvas,
painting you with every stroke.

Painter's eyes, poorly
trained for night, cede the darkness
to sculptor's fingers,
where model and work are one,
poor Pygmalion's art outdone.

Shall love be as music,
heard in the moment, to live
then as memory,
Whisper nightly in my ear
our never ending love song.

Painters, brush in hand,
musicians, fingers on strings
sculptors, hammer raised,
defer to poets, the true
masters of the art of love.

 

[Epmd607]

for me to express what poetry does to me. I feel overwhelmed by the complex milieu of rich words mixed in simple rhythms, or simple words mixed in rich rhythms. Poems sing in my mind, owning life with a beat. Most times, after I read a rich poem, I write a paragraph so I am sure I understand the author's meaning.

Then many times, I simply sit at my desk and cry, marveling, how did they do such beauty in so few words?

Damn, I am getting all choked up about it now. Surely, this is the poet's heart at work in me?

Now, I must develop the acumen. It's too overwhelming in me not to. I can't help but try and sing the rich rhythm's of my heart, along with the silly sarcasm in my mind.

I think we're on the same page. I just like categorization and rigor. I want to be able to keep what I love about writing poems at the forefront of discussions of poetry.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

wordless, but not meaningless

perhaps, with the sea, a sunset, a certain smile, it is an unwritten poem - an unpoem - as yet to be translated into man-words.

poetry in motion? ..............

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

I think we're on the same page. I just like categorization and rigor. I want to be able to keep what I love about writing poems at the forefront of discussions of poetry.

I do not know the rigor. I blurt what I feel as an emotional response to stimuli. I'm trying to find structure. It's damn hard for me because I work off emotion-- sight, sound, and smells. Many times I write a poem and post it immediately (some actually written on the submit page). I'm trying to stop doing that, letting it percolate on my compy for a few days. Nonetheless, I DO like it. It's hard.

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

Lol

I just realized I can't spell doesn't. That reminds me of the poem I posted, "You're Beautiful Warts and All." I just must laugh at myself sometimes. Uhm, no sarcasm intended, just goofiness!

Just look at what the American educational system has done to me. Certainly not my fault! I'm a victim I tell ya. Yeah, a victim!

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

There is a saying that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but I don't see it as such the only silliness occurs when it goes wayyyyyyyy over the head of the person it's aimed at and they have to have it explained to them!

I don't get it.

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

There is a saying that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but I don't see it as such the only silliness occurs when it goes wayyyyyyyy over the head of the person it's aimed at and they have to have it explained to them!

poetry in motion? ..............

*snicker*

 

[Palba_Noruda]

I believe sunsets, oceans, towns, poets sitting at tables writing poems, and the poems themselves are all the work of the universe. LOL.

 

[Esperanza_Hidalgo]

I believe sunsets, oceans, towns, poets sitting at tables writing poems, and the poems themselves are all the work of the universe. LOL.

I agree! It's Miss Universes fault! She made me messpill that worde.

 

[butters]

poetry in motion? ..............

frequently

now you make me think about it, i think the motion might be pretty crucial ... the fleeting nature of a moment ... even a rock, immutable in our short space of time is still something that appears different according to lighting, the movement of clouds across the sun, rain, the movement of plants breaking up its outline, or the panoramic view it might inhabit with its everchanging shadows and nuances

 

[UnderYourSpell]

frequently

now you make me think about it, i think the motion might be pretty crucial ... the fleeting nature of a moment ... even a rock, immutable in our short space of time is still something that appears different according to lighting, the movement of clouds across the sun, rain, the movement of plants breaking up its outline, or the panoramic view it might inhabit with its everchanging shadows and nuances

Very poetic and will please Epm no end

 

[EroticOrogeny]

frequently

now you make me think about it, i think the motion might be pretty crucial ... the fleeting nature of a moment ... even a rock, immutable in our short space of time is still something that appears different according to lighting, the movement of clouds across the sun, rain, the movement of plants breaking up its outline, or the panoramic view it might inhabit with its everchanging shadows and nuances

And over a longer period of time the rock changes. Just the fact that its a rock shows change for its fluid-based birth.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

And over a longer period of time the rock changes. Just the fact that its a rock shows change for its fluid-based birth.

now he's getting technical ....... you know what happens when you talk techy

 

[EroticOrogeny]

slip & slide, expand & contract, fold & fracture

 

[UnderYourSpell]

moannnnnnnn ........

 

[Epmd607]

I honestly don't know what's going on here.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

It's a porno board moaning is compulsory