A lot of people have a lot to say about poetry and what it is. I like what William Wordsworth said: “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings.”
I’ll be taking a short hiatus from my blog, only until next week sometime, so I thought I would leave with some more of my old poetry. I hope you all enjoy it!
The desert-red earth bleeding.
I kneel on the red-orange sand,
look up to the blue-gray clouds above
and confess my sins.
I dig my hands into the dirt,
dry, hope the rain will come,
Nature’s heart beats . . .
beat . . .
beat . . .
Finally, the sky thunders, rebuking me,
and water falls from the overflowing clouds,
the red sand trickles down my fingers
like blood–Nature holds many symbolisms.
The rain washes away the dryness
and takes with it my confessions.
I rise and am forgiven.
Observation as a Human
I don’t mind the cold that permeates the air
in late fall, early winter—we need something
to bit us and remind us that we
Which is why I slow down instead of speed up
walking over the leaf embedded street
as the coldness winds its nipping fingers
up my body.
I let it embrace me with the dark night
that’s circling around me like a pack
of wolves and embellish the fact
that I am human.