40 Waxing Poetic
As a break to my monologue, allow me to wax poetic for a moment. --I’ve decided to include a couple poems that I wrote during my convalescence.
Many poems start with a flare and then fizzle out. I find most of mine don’t even start with a flare.
If I were to define my style, in simple terms it’s pretty much the regular kind of poem in which I attempt to convey a thought and convert prose into poetry by rhyming whatever words happen to come along.
If I were to intellectualize my style, I might describe the poetry I’ve written as syntactical distortions resorted to in order to meet the demands of meter and rhyme, mixed with some free verse that lurches from time to time into iambics, coupled with strained metaphors that dispute to the reader, “No, believe me, I really am a poem!”
But since I much prefer clear-cut language and delivery, let me just say that these poems, however imperfect, are simply meant to convey heart-felt experience.
Those of you who know me know that my faith means a lot to me. While I’m not much of a churchgoer, and may not be mainstream enough for some folks, I certainly do call on my faith to see me through times like this.
Let me end with this plea: Judge my attempt at poetry mercifully.
Many poems start with a flare and then fizzle out. I find most of mine don’t even start with a flare.
If I were to define my style, in simple terms it’s pretty much the regular kind of poem in which I attempt to convey a thought and convert prose into poetry by rhyming whatever words happen to come along.
If I were to intellectualize my style, I might describe the poetry I’ve written as syntactical distortions resorted to in order to meet the demands of meter and rhyme, mixed with some free verse that lurches from time to time into iambics, coupled with strained metaphors that dispute to the reader, “No, believe me, I really am a poem!”
But since I much prefer clear-cut language and delivery, let me just say that these poems, however imperfect, are simply meant to convey heart-felt experience.
Those of you who know me know that my faith means a lot to me. While I’m not much of a churchgoer, and may not be mainstream enough for some folks, I certainly do call on my faith to see me through times like this.
Let me end with this plea: Judge my attempt at poetry mercifully.
Labels: broken leg; faith; waxing poetic; poem; syntactical;
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