We had a decently known poet come into our school, play his autobiography movie for us, read one of his own works. It made for an interesting English class. I liked the man, I have to say, for someone who has never been a friend to poetry, I liked the man.
Epic, haiku, ballad, etc etc etc…. None of which I felt I could be successful with.
Rhythm and sounds and syllables all counted into one piece of a type of beautifully written work of art. If only I was that smart.
To make my first sound alike feels impressive even to me. Only more I wish I could possibly see.
Maybe only guessing and hope of a checkmark or smile of approval, wishful thinking upon this. I’m so used to hitting the miss.
Perhaps it’s not that bad after all. Only when your mind goes blank and it seems to crumble and fall. That’s when you know you’ve given it you’re all.
How songwriters and wordsmiths make it seem easy and light. I can only stumble from all of my effort of constant might.
A sudden ability to make this is surprising and fun. It might as well be the coffee or tea that I drink in the morning sun.
Perhaps meeting a poet I have honestly never heard of before has changed my view on things. I never wanted to try on my own free time. Only as a challenge did I decide to try again and see if it would work. Maybe my English teacher will be proud of me. Maybe she’ll never see and only have a sense I’ve done something great. Another attempt at something new.