PD30 Day 1: I Believe in Poetry
September 1, 2008 by John Hewitt
I believe in poetry. I love it. It makes me feel good to write it. It makes me feel good to read it. I love the thought that there is something inside of me that expresses itself in a much more primal way than the straightforward text of my ordinary prose. For me, poetry is visceral. It comes from a different place inside of me. For me, poetry feels like a much more genuine expression of my thoughts and emotions than any other form of writing. My poetry tends to be rough-edged. I don’t sweat over every word. I don’t work to make every syllable of every poem perfect. I like my poems to be rawer than that.
My approach is not everyone’s approach. It isn’t even the predominant approach. Some people write poetry because they want to create something beautiful. They are attracted to poetry forms because they want to challenge themselves. They add constraints to their poetry such as meter, syllable counts, repetition, alliteration and even rhyme. They believe that constraint and rules give structure to their creativity. Those people are just as correct in their approach as I am in mine. That is the beauty of poetry. It can be so many things. There is no one right way to write poetry. There are academic styles, surrealist styles, emotional styles and a multitude of other styles.
Some people use poetry for catharsis. They write about their pain. They write about their love. They write about their dreams. Some people use poetry to capture memories, moments, or places. There are poets who can go on at length about the shape of a bridge, the form of a building, the slope of a hill or the curves of a creek. They can crystallize a moment in time or capture the essence of another person in their life. They treat poetry as a canvas, creating a vision for people to take in.
There is no “right” way to write poetry. Poetry is a fluid medium and experimentation is a part of the form. Unlike novels or films, poetry is an ancient form. Our earliest recorded works are poetic. Only the painting of pictures on cave walls predates poetry. For an art form to survive that long, it must be fluid. It must allow for change.
I will do my best throughout this project to provide guidance and advice. There are techniques, styles and skills that I believe can make a poet better, but I am only offering my thoughts and opinions. It is up to you to make up your own rules.
Today’s Poetry Prompt
Write a poem about something you believe.
Related links
- 30 Poems in 30 Days set for September (1.000)
- All About 30 Poems in 30 Days (1.000)
- PD30 Day 2: Generally Be Specific (1.000)
- PD30 Day 3: A Review of Meter (1.000)
- PD30 Day 4: Poetry -- the Writer's Bridge to Music. (1.000)
Contact John Hewitt
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Email: hewitt@poewar.comPhone: (520) 261-6104
LinkedIn: poewar
Twitter: @poewar
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Howdy,
Rosemary Nissen-WAde put me on to this project. I’m just guessing here that I post my poems in the comments section? There doesn’t seem to be any other way to do it.
Hi, seems like a fun project. =)
Here’s my humble contribution. Comments appreciates, but if it’s really bad, pls be politically correct and say “try harder next time”. *deadpan*
***************************
Title: I Believe
I believe
That it is alright to fail
But not to give up
That is it alright to fall
But not to stay down
I believe
That the world is out there waiting
But not that there is meaning out there
That there are things to achieve
But not that wealth is achievement
I believe
That I can succeed
But not that I am the best
That I will make a loud splash
But not that my splash alone is enough
I believe in many things
Many wondrous things
I believe in my future
Many magnificent possibilities
But most of all
Really
I believe in you.
And here’s mine, without a title
I have brown hair
You have blue eyes
So it really shouldn’t
Come as a surprise
That the way we look
And grow and think
Comes from our genes
Through parental link
Feminist dogma says
That this is all wrong
‘We are what we make us’
Are the words to their song,
But surely it’s obvious
As the nose on your face
That if eyes and nose vary
From race to race
Then how well we think,
The scope of our reason
Should vary too?
Sure, that’s PC treason.
The thing about PC –
It permits no proof
(The purpose of dogma
Is to hide the truth)
Whether IQ’s inherited
Isn’t open to doubt.
What really matters
Is what we think about.
Mater Familias
I believe in One God
who has many names and faces
and more genders than we
here on this tiny planet
could possibly imagine.
And I like to call Her Goddess.
Sometimes I call Her Mother.
But that can get confusing.
Since her death, my own Mum
tends to come at the call –
quite kindly, and pleased I think
that finally I seem to need her.
Or I call Her the Universe
encompassing all
that vastness, limitless,
as well as the most minute
invisible particle, and
even the nothing between.
The Universe. Isn’t that ‘It’?
Abstract, non-gender-specific?
Perhaps. But also I see
that space, that profound dark
as the Void, the Great Womb,
the Nurturer of Life.
I like the horned deer in the forest,
male symbol of God, the stag.
I like the great image of Pan
as the kindly spirit of Nature
animating our world. So I’m not
committed to calling that Gaia.
I believe really that God
is everything we are,
our whole reality – Truth,
and Life, and Love, as
every scripture says. I believe.
Then I make up the details.
And I do like to call Her Goddess,
choosing to give Her the face
of the Moon more often than not,
inspirer of dreams and poets.
She has many names and faces.
Tonight I believe I’ll say Ishtar.
Rosemary Nissen-Wade (aka SnakyPoet)s last blog post..Thinkin’ Trim Taut Terrific: 2
Sorry, but on second thoughts I don’t see that I would find the time to participate in the forum/workshop. So I do hope there’s plenty of action out here too!
Rosemary Nissen-Wade (aka SnakyPoet)s last blog post..Thinkin’ Trim Taut Terrific: 2
–I wrote a blues sonnet, which can be found on the private forum.
I am placing the first part of it here:
Them Fightin’ Blues
Oh why must men take up their guns to fight?
with anger men take up their guns to fight!
They fight because they’ve learned to hate, alright!
I believe in this world of unpredictable weather
The internet will help to bring us together
Some like to write, others to read
Some of us want, some of us need
But through the silence of servers, we’re brother to brother
Because the internet cares not a thing about color
Writer Dads last blog post..Nominate Writer Dad
I will die
and I will not care
that I am dead
I will be dead
after all
I will die
and someone
will care
that I am dead
someone I love
whol loved me
in return
I will die
and a stranger
will care that I am dead
someone I never met
or do not
remember
meeting
I will die
next week,
today, tomorrow
mourn me well
your turn is coming
too
I Believe In You, Sonja
One of my favorite pictures is still, always, you on day one of kindergarten,
Holding your stuffed pink kitty, looking happy and ready to get on with it.
I know I took that picture just happy, carefree yesterday.
At your college graduation, I said, I know I took that picture just yesterday.
Today, September 1, 2008, Is a bigger day than that day,
But it is quieter, not marked by any special fanfare.
There are no camera bulbs going off.
You just grew up and now you are slipping away.
Your bags and boxes are packed you tell me.
You’re off to join the grown-up world now and you say you’re scared.
My baby is leaving me. My little girl all grown up leaving the nest.
Fly birdie fly. Spread those gorgeous wings and fly for all your worth.
I believe you must do this now before the time has passed.
I believe I will be sad and you will be scared but it must be.
Children grow up. Mothers raise daughters to go off and fly.
All is as it should be. Someone take a picture for me please.
Maryellen Gradys last blog post.."I Look At All the Lonely People. Where Do They All Come From?"
Ok, well this seems interesting. I suppose I’ll submit one. Bear with me here, i haven’t done poetry in a long time and am not looking for critique just yet.
I believe
I believe in love, and
Therefore I am loved
I believe in writing, and
Therefore I write
Because I love, I
Am broken
Because I write, I
Struggle
But I believe in writing
And I believe in love
Friedman on Mushrooms
I believe that the world is not flat
Or round
So much as it is a mushroom
And that the call center in Bangalore
The one that never solves my problems
Is somewhere left and downward
Of the center of the cap
I am on the stalk
Where all the processing takes place
According to a set hierarchy
That begins with the bank
And flows through the merchant
All the way to the terminal
Where we feed in the numbers
That keep the mushroom
Expanding
The flow of goods and services
Is interrupted only by the occasional spore
Exploding into the muck
That surrounds and feeds the world
As it grows into dark matter
I can see the flow
Surrounding me
I stare at the receipts
Of our interactions
Filled with authorization codes
Batch numbers
And the last four card numbers
The public digits
Not the Xed out naughty bits
Naked commerce is for personal transactions
I believe in the mushroom
I will feed it
As it feeds me
Neither satisfied
But both afraid of change
@ DJ
Yes, you can post them here. I think You’ve figured that out now. Thank you for the contribution. “PC Treason”… Nice
@ Sheer
Thank you for getting involved. I’d like to see more splash. Splash is cool.
@ Rosemary
It’s good to have you back this year. Love the title. I just watched “Oh Brother Where Art Thou” again last night, and loved Clooney’s character’s insistence “But I am the Pater Familias!’
@ James
Thanks for the excerpt.
@ RRR
Very dark. Welcome to the club.
@ Maryellen
I’m sure Sonja will do well.
@ Erin
Love and writing go hand in hand
I believe in the right to be me,
To live,
To love,
To play,
To laugh,
To cry,
To say I’ve done my work.
Don’t ask me to do more.
Don’t tell me what to do
Or think,
Or believe,
Or like,
Or dislike.
My youth was given away
To my husband.
To my children.
My middle-age was given away
To my children.
To my colleagues,
To my parents.
Now I am old.
These years are mine
To live.
To love,
To play,
To laugh,
To cry.
I’ve given enough.
Now give to me
The right to be me.
@ Peaches
Well said.
I Believe
The world holds
many roads
that lead to
Rome.
I have held hands
with the devil
and went where
he left me.
In my dreams
I was still alone
reaching out
for the one.
Without leaving
I could never return
tasting bittersweet droplets
on my tongue.
Kimberlee Ferrells last blog post..Day 1: I Believe
I’ve enjoyed reading the poems so far. How fun.
Erin: I agree. To live, to write and to love. Basic colors of life. =)
Peaches: I like. I believe in respecting the right for others to be who they are, and that we shld demand the same for ourselves.
@ John
(Wasn’t thinking of it when I came up with this title, but) O Brother Where Art Thou? is one of my favourites.
Rosemary Nissen-Wade (aka SnakyPoet)s last blog post..Thinkin’ Trim Taut Terrific: 2
I feel the same way when writing. It’s primarily for myself, to release whatever emotions are either on the surface or just underneath. I can also describe a certain moment better with poetry than basic explanation.
My writing is the essence
Of everything, of nothing
Of all that lies within
@ Kimberlee
Thank you for submitting your poem. Good luck in Rome.
@ Rosemary
We thought you was a toad!
@ Kristi
Release is a good thing. We hold on to too much.
Leave It To Believer
Betokening a certain apprehension
Enveloped by a fear of unacceptance
Let loose by basic, principled dissension
I have a hope shack Franklin, Ben had kept once:
Editions of humanity, revised
Foreshorten grief and make the future brighter
Sustain a soul train spacebound, Enterprised
Yet earthbound, yielding to the Freed Non-Fighter.
Socratic inquiry may lead to betterment
The Act Of Love if loving can’t be beat
Eludication truncates transindebtorment
Meanderment in Mean Time takes its seat.
If Kami-Kaze is confined to Wind
Connections Cosmic well could Doom rescind.
Great poems!.
You have inspired me to write one of my own, i’ll post after i’m finished.
The poems is very good. I feel very calm and peaceful when read it
I believe the chemicals may
be messing with our minds -
I mean, the way the
colouring in bath foam
fools us into a blue lagoon,
or ticklish on the tongue
citrus mouthwash mimics
sun-kissed skins of seville oranges
sneezing fragrant juices
when they’re cut
as if paradise is
only ever here and now
in the bathroom
and nothing left to strive for
except more of the same.
a fascination of
an air filled balloon
carried aloft dantily
by hot wilfold hand
a basket of dreams
dispel the beauty
of heavens creation
God, i do beleive
I am excited about starting up here again. I love all these poems! sounds great everyone…..
Take my hand as I hold yours
And we shiver at the thought
Of what awaits behind closed doors
The prospect of getting caught.
The sentence you start, I will complete
Our dreams unfurl in tandem
The walls around us may be neat
But our meeting wasn’t random.
I believe the world’s self-wound
I believe in old and new
I believe all things come unbound
But mostly, I believe in you.
Darryl Daviss last blog post..Continuum
It’s April first,
I think it’s a good time to try this out.
I want to better my writing.
Opinion please?
I suppose
I may be thinking
A bit too hard, but
As I sit here
I can’t help but ponder on
The subject of…
Belief
For as I sit here
Thinking in ink
I cannot reach far enough
to grab a hold of
and thoroughly percieve…
Belief
Because as I sit here
My mind is blank
For I cannot fill the empty
With faith in truth
And truth in heart
A dedication to…
Belief
A dedication I lack
I couldn’t think of a name…
The cures are locked away somewhere,
but nobody dares to touch them.
and the scientist have time to spare
as the cancer makes them millionares.
and the presidental’s watchful eye
plots yet again another disguise
Of war and havoc on innocent souls
While he’s raking in the dough
Soldiers fight a sensless war
For oil in a foreign land
while underneath our feet
lies the same liquid fossil
And wind, water, light and corn
can be substituted.
But due to our too busy schedules
and lack of precious time
As we go from day to day
Living to work,
Living to pay.
without enough time to watch the news
So the world remains the same
I believe the world is a solemn stone face,
and that all humans can do, is add makeup and paint.
Beneath what lines we curve, or shades we make,
still stares the silent solemn stone face.
You or I could paint over an eye, and fill it with anger and hate,
But no such sin truly comes, from the solemn stone face.
So friend, know that the world is whatever you make,
But understand, that no matter what, it still doesn’t change.
I believe in the flow of water on the palm
As a person pursued pauses by a stream
Before they must cross it
Sustaining and forbidding, the cold creature
That pricks her senses, suspended by apprehension,
So they sparkle again with hope that she cannot hold
If she is to cross this stream and survive
But forever she will remember the time
When time stopped and she held sweet cruelty
In her own hands, for once
And gave it back to the earth where it belonged
Before she continued on, down the stream
And her pursuers, unmoved, paced straight past,
Raced straight through the water bridge