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English 2260

Intro to Poetry

Reflection

 

My time in the introduction course for Poetry has been a very interesting journey. I have always dabbled in poetry, but I never really thought I would do much with it. I usually like to write long works of fiction, but with this course I was writing more and more poems. Before this course, I wrote mostly free verse poems, mostly because I didn’t know about many other kinds of poems. My lines would very much vary in length and detail; I wouldn’t say that they were very good at all.

For me, what it took to want to write a poem was mostly a quick way to remember a scene I had in my head, whether about a novel I was working on or something to help me get some pent up feeling out of my head. I never really used poetry for any real writing. I mean, my mother said she was a poet when she was young and had written a lot of poems, so maybe that’s where I had gotten my influence, but I never really had a true interest in poetry until after I had graduated from high school.

And sure, my father has also told me he wrote a few poems, but I do not believe a few poems a poet make. What I believe makes a poet is a person who has a desire to write poetry, in whatever form that they wish, and a desire to share those poems with the world. This is probably why I always feared being a poet, I fear the outside world, the place where my poems are taken through the torrent and if they survived, they were a frame of their original form.

One of the hardest things for me is changing my poems, when I write them, they come from the heart, so revising them to me seems like I ruining something heartfelt and personal, which is partially true, in the sense that every poem is personal. But after this course, I have discovered that revision can also mean revising the poem into something closer to what your heart was meaning to say. So now, whenever I’m told to revise a poem or anything I have written, I will see where in the work I have slightly missed what my heart was trying to say. Yes, I know that poets shouldn’t always write from the heart, but for me, it’s where my creativity lives and breathes.

Though I have found myself more and more poetry, I still have a lot to work on. Sticking to form can be very hard for me. I also have a hard time being a visual person with my poems, where mine tend to be emotional, part of being heartfelt I guess. Perhaps if I were to try write more about the scenes around me or perhaps writing about a picture or artwork of mine, maybe, just maybe, that would help me be a more visual person in my poems.

But I won’t say I am only weaknesses in my poetry, I obviously have some strengths. Something that comes with writing heartfelt poems and other works of writing is that they are very emotional and evoke that emotion in those who read them. I have also found that when I understand a form of poetry and wish to write in that form, I can do it fairly easily, even if the poem itself doesn’t end up all that good.

In the end, I am a writer, a poet, a creator of pieces of writing that make my readers understand the emotion I want them to feel.

You Tease Me

 

Simple letters
words complex.
Smile here,
chuckle there.
You never say outright,
what I am to you,
but your actions say all,
plain as the letters you wrote.

Finally we meet in a bar,
but you keep yourself
away a slight distance.
A ‘few’ small drinks,
vague words and topics,
they only brush the surface
of each other’s
interests, talents, hobbies.

I know how you feel,
you know I feel the same,
but you never tell me.
You only skirt around
the true and only thoughts.
I just want to know,
why you’re scared
say, “I love you.”

You tease me (Original)

 

Simple letters
words complex.
Smile here,
chuckle there.
You never say outright,
what I am to you,
but your actions say all.

Soon we finally meet,
but you keep away
a slight distance.
A few small drinks,
vague words and topics,
only brush the surface
of each other’s interests.

I know how you feel,
you know I feel the same,
but you never tell me.
You only skirt around.
I just want to know,
why you’re scared
say, “I love you.”

Role play

 

Every time we try to play,

trying to make up what we are.

All we do is delay.

 

We never think of what to say,

no one likes to look that far,

every time we try to play

 

you only avoid the events of yesterday.

None of us see the bar

is all we do is delay?

 

Soon our ‘friend’ will come to slay

saying that it only will be a spar

every time we try to play.

 

We never were very easy prey

even after we gained each scar.

All we did was delay

 

what needed to be told of that day.

You think of yourself as a star

every time we try to play

when all we do is delay.

This is the Time

This is the time when I find myself
No more of me wanting to hide
I just want to be somewhere
where I could be alive

 

When I was young, I seemed to hide
either in the dark corners or the light
People really didn’t think I was alive
I’d stay where I could always be hidden

 

Then came the day when I saw the Light
when a new friend showed me the truth
I was not someone who should stay hidden
keeping my gifts from the world around

 

She was real, she spoke truth
I was and am the only true master
I am the one that can move myself around
I will find my place to be successful

 

So now I go to be a master
of my skills, my talents, myself
I think that I can be somewhat successful
if I can find that realm within myself, somewhere

Sunlight

 

I find myself not far from the light
But the moments before the day keep me hustling
Too many times I tried to remain in the lust,
Of just wanting to be in the night
I enjoy the darkness, the sight
Almost like it was one of the Deadly sins
I try to think of the day as a gun
That only made me blind to the hint
I want to stay dark, remain like a gin
The things that keep me from joining the day make a long list
I guess you have to leave without me, Hun.

In That Day

In that day, a home was made.
In that day, life became renewed.
In that day, strangers became friends.
In that day, love was understood.
In that day, a bond was forged.
In that day, partners became lovers.
In a moment, it all changed.
In that day, a man lost his temper.
In that day, his life was destroyed.
In that day, a hunt was declared.
In that day, two women were lost.
In that day, vendetta was the word.
In that day, betrayals were shown.
In that day, the bond of love was severed.
In that day, hatred was the only emotion.
In that day, friends left ended their life.
In that day, a life was ruined.
In that day, home was homeless once more.

At that time, a tear fell to the ground.

Four-Thirty in the morning

 

A quiet house filled
With sleeping people.
Before long, one walks
Around the house to prepare;
Dressing, showering, preparing for work.
Soon she is met with another,
Her husband to be with.

 

The world outside is still,
Darkness covers the grassy yard.
Dew and birds, both quietly waiting.
Soon the sun peaks,
The mountains no longer
Holding it back.
Light fills the house,
Helping visions adjust
to what the new day holds.

Four-Thirty in the morning,
Quiet, peaceful, boring.
Perhaps a snooze would
Make it more interesting.

In That Day (Original)

In that day, a home was found.
In that day, a life became renewed.
In that day, strangers became friends.
In that day, true love was understood.
In that day, a bond was formed.
In that day, partners became lovers.
In that day, a man lost his temper.
In that day, his life was lost.
In that day, a hunt was made.
In that day, two women became lost.
In that day, vendetta was on tongues.
In that day, betrayals were set.
In that day, the bond was severed.
In that day, hatred was the only emotion.
In that day, friends left this existence.
In that day, a life was destroyed.
In that day, home was homeless once more.

In that day, a tear fell to the ground.

A series of Tanka

 

My being lives.
Despite trying to be strong,
Thrown and destroyed.
All people passed me around,
Using only what they needed.

 

Of battles and fights,
There can be no true winner,
We all take damage.
All receive their scars and cuts,
Physical or emotion.

 

Blood fuels the hunt,
Predators track the small prey.
Muzzles up in air,
Sniffing out their new target,
Both breath and heart race alike.

 

Pencils and pens write,
Making paper have meaning.
Words combined with ease,
Describe a scene to readers,
What each see is different.

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