One Poor Sonnet

Dear Whoever You Might Be,

      I think Elizabeth Bennet was right on par in regards to the art of poetry. Mr. Darcy, who thought poetry "was the food of love," had it all wrong. Maybe I think that because I am not a poet. Maybe because I don't understand a lot of poetry on my own and have to rely on google for deeper meaning. Regardless, I have never been a "poetry" girl.

      When I was in middle school though, I thought differently. For a few weeks in my english class, we spent time writing different types of poems and compiling them into our own poetry "collections." I saved some of mine because I thought I could put them to good use one day when I was a famous writer. People would read my poems and be inspired to write one of their own. Teachers would use them in class to teach eager poetry-loving students what "real poetry" looks like.

      And here, for your reading pleasure, I am giving you a chance to read one of my poems before I am famous...that's a joke because I know it will never be famous or given any sort of credibility or anything at all for that matter.  It is not great, it is not even good. But it is a testament to my past and the way that I viewed the world when I was a mere thirteen years old.  Please, enjoy.

 

My Place

 

My childhood place.

It shared the hush of town.

 

Girls moved through slowly with concentration,

Trying to understand.

But they couldn't.

 

Here, the world brimmed with possibility.

Here, a girl could dare.

Here, time stopped.

 

It was just right.

It was perfect.

 

But only I knew it.

Only I could feel it.

 

It was empty,

And yet full of life.

It was quiet,

And yet filled with the sound of the birds.

It was still,

And yet the wind moved through like a race.

 

It was my place.

And only I understood it. 

      There it is. One of my very few poems. I think I like the idea of poetry more than the thing itself. I find poems about love to be too stereotyped and melodramatic. Poems about loss too far from the reality of despair. Poems about epic battles too laced with the bias of the writer. Sure, I use fancy words sometimes to describe things, but I don't think a poem can truly provide the inner truth of who I am. I much prefer "real talk" to the highfalutin mumbo jumbo that Gilbert accuses Anne of in the second Green Gables movie. I love in A Knight's Tale when William tries to make up poetry on the spot for Jocelyn and ends up making a fool of himself by saying "Your breasts...they're beneath your throat..." Real eloquent there, bud. Just tell her she's beautiful and that you are completely captivated by her in your own words.

      I am not trying to belittle the art of poetry by any means. Without poetry there would be no literature. Without poetry there would be no Homer, no Dante. I can appreciate poetry for what it is, but I guess since I'm not a poet, I can hardly claim to know it.

                                                                        Sincerely,
                                                                                 Me