Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Or Maybe It's Just the Wine

The thing is, the poetry is already there.

Everyday, everywhere. You just have to know where and how to look. Or, at the very least, you have to want to try.

For some it comes easy; some are born with the ability to see. Others have to work at it. Many don't give a damn one way or another.

I believe the true poet has the ability to use words to create doors or windows or signposts that help reveal the poetry that already exists to those who, for one reason or another, might otherwise have missed it.

Words used in such a way are magic.

The problem is, so often we write stuff that we want to be poetry but it ends up just being cumbersome and unwieldy, serving only to obstruct and cheapen the poetry that already exists. Words become walls of brick and layers of concrete that bury the original beauty underneath.

Sometime the page is best left white.

That's all.

1 comment:

  1. Have another glass, maybe the words'll loosen up. This post makes perfect sense to me. I feel the same way about not wanting to misuse words and thereby contribute to the slumber of people rather than helping them see.