Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The wind is wild
So, a good friend of mine suggested that I don't write poetry on the blog.
His opinion is that poetry is a difficult thing to connect with, extremely subjective and ambiguous. Meaning, I may know what the hell I am writing about, but others may not (like studying poetry in 9th grade). The other thought, my poetry just sucks and no one gets it.
I do see his point in some ways. Whenever I post poetry, it receives the least amount of comments compared to anything else I post. The real question is though, do I give a crap? I don't, not one bit.
Don't get me wrong, I love posting things readers respond to. But I think if we have been blogging long enough, we get better at not measuring success or joy by the amount of comments received. If I did, I would have quit a long time ago, hehe. Receiving and giving comments carries a meaning all its own, a meaning filled with honest gratitude, kindness, and connection. I have learned that the better I get at separating ego from giving or receiving comments, the more honest and authentic I feel.
So back to the poetry. I am also learning that to truly commit to being creative, you cannot give two shits about rejection, failure, approval, or any form of external validation. Harder said than done, I know. I can say with self-proclaimed expertise, praise can be an insidious poison that creates addicts if we don't remember our intentions. So if and when a kindness does arrive, humility and gratitude overcomes ego and ambition. I may not be a natural poet, and I may not be particularly good at prose either, but I lose myself in the beauty of words. Anyone that spends time listening for the heartbeat a collection of words can muster, is reeled in helplessly and willingly by the daydream and romance the rhythm spins. This is what I love, this is what I seek.
So, here I am helpless and willing, tossing my words out into the world with no agenda, only for the joy of it :). That's just what bloggers and writers do :).
I wrote this last night as the winds around Boulder shook things up a little...(btw, if you couldn't tell, I love alliteration :).
A walk in the moonlight
is a wish that won't be made tonight.
wild, whooshing and whirling,
crashes against the window,
waving woody branches as if
wanting them to grow wings and fly.
I wait for the whistling--
or the howling,
but the gusts want to
wax and wane instead.
Without worry, I feel warm
and safe within my house
as a whirlwind of leaves
scatter across the streets,
wandering far away from where they once began.