Why Poetry?

Okay. Out of the depths I arise with new blog posts and I choose...poetry?

Even I'm a bit perplexed by my sudden interest in the poetic again. I have literally not written a line of poetry (save for one poem as part of a wine drinking contest that I really shouldn't go into here) since college.

Perhaps love? Perhaps the absence of said love? Perhaps my struggles with mortality?

I could go with any of these cliches. And I would probably be truthful. But my motivations run far deeper. And believe me, I know all about hiding the truth behind the careful application of partial truths.

So why poetry?

Perhaps if we call them "riddles" we'll get closer to the truth. Because my true motivation for turning to poetry is not to deliver noble insights, but to wrap my feelings in poetic riddles, fearful of how their prose counterparts might be perceived. Speaking plainly would be too obvious and expose far too much. So instead I craft carefully worded puzzles for you all to unpack.

Not so romantic when it's put like that.

In fact, there are some poems I fear even to let you unpack, so they stay safely here on my hard drive, rather than yours. Maybe someday I'll let you see them. But not today.

So poetry. Such a beautiful artform. But in unpacking these feelings I have to wonder, is this the true motivation of every poet? If so, it seems that the greatest poetry is still that which is made clear to another person, without fear...which really is no poem at all. It's just honesty.

Is Beauty Fleeting

Is beauty fleeting?
I think that it's not.
It burrows down deep
To escape from the rot
Of this endless malaise,
This marching of days,
And reveals itself under
A shallow shell plundered
Of youth and of grace,
Content in it's place
Beneath all that means nothing,
Beneath all that deceives,
Revealed in sweet moments
When its truth is perceived.

So, is beauty lasting?
It certainly is.
It shines from within
And is thankfully his
Who has wisdom to see
The joy that proceeds
From grace now unfettered,
From flesh so unsettled
In age and disease,
Content and at ease
Within the truth that it holds,
Within the care it reveals,
Ready and willing
To be called on to heal.

The Darkest Day of the Year

Long the road that leads me here,
To the darkest day of the year.
Every step a grayer journey
I'd sooner never make.
But though the days grew dim,
Leaving hopes now faded thin,
Every day that proceeds from here
Has brightness none can take.

Of A Pink Butterfly

Flitter, flutter,
Float about.
Weaving in
Then fly and shout
With joy of life
So free of strife,
Alive with love,
No fear nor doubt.

Pitter, patter,
Prance today.
Twisting, turn,
Then pirouette
To grab an arm
And swing from harm
In my embrace
Content to stay.

Twitter, Tatter,
Sing a song.
Joyful notes
That don't belong
To earth's dark hold.
So young and bold,
So free of hurt,
So free of wrong.

Struggle, snuggle,
Which to choose?
Fleeting rest
Then breaking loose
To dance again,
Spin while she can,
For summer's joy
Does end too soon.