Is this poetry? I ask myself for the millionth time as I take pen to paper and prepare to write.
There are rules to poetry and yet, I follow none of them. There are no iambic pentameters, no stanzas, hell there is not even one single rhyme. Once again the question remains, is this poetry?
I torture myself over these “rules” and yet, I don’t care about them all at the same time. I want it to be perfect and I stay awake at night obsessing over the words that came so easily when I was in that moment.
Is it poetry that causes the reader’s lip to quiver, does their eyes glisten, does their throat get congested from the unshed tears caused by the memories it evokes.
I think back to the poetry I have read before such as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edgar Allen Poe, Ezra Pound, Walt Whitman just to name a few, and I think to myself is this really poetry?
Is this poetry that carries me out to sea on waves of my written words. Is it poetry that provokes images of moonbeams and starry night skies from A Midsummer’s Night Dreams.
I am adrift on this lonely path I take one of rule breaking and potential poetry making. I see, no more rules, no more laws, only the heart. I write from my heart, I write from my soul, isn’t that enough?
I write with a vengeance, I write with a passion that knows no bounds. It provokes a sense of purpose in a world gone mad. A sense of freedom I have never known.
And yet the question remains, Is this poetry? Is it poetry that makes me feel, with every part of me? Is it poetry that pours out like rain? Is it poetry that evokes such strong emotions for a simple blade of grass?
The answer is clear. Yes, it may not be the conventional poetry of the greats that came before me but yes, it is poetry to me. Poetry is words that come from your soul. That feed your thirsty pallet when you have nothing left to give. So yes, this is poetry, my poetry…