A poem a day...day four
Home
in the beginning
home was a place.
it had walls.
memories punctuated
every stone,
a chair could sum up
an entire history.
there were points
where remembering
became more acute,
more timeless.
a table, around which
we sat, carried dozens
of dinners, breakfasts,
finger paintings.
then, the still frames
began to move.
home became a variable –
a sense of leaving
and returning
and we became
unhitched, searching
for re-beginnings.
now we softly settle,
and once again give
the word a certain
geography, but
acknowledging
what we have learned.
home is not the place,
but those inside.
Today is National Poetry Day - time to think about your favourite poems, why you love them, and to share them with one another. This year's theme is 'Home', which is why I have used this topic here.
Because today's poem is, yet again, written only today, it inevitably is more 'churned out' than finely crafted. Parts of it make me wince. It's not what I would want it to be. Nevertheless, despite its sketchiness, I hope it holds a hint of potentiality.
Do you like poetry? Why? Why not?
Any favourites?
Day One: walk with me
8 comments:
I like them that way. The poems, I mean. It's from the heart; no time for thinking and rethinking.
I have not written a poem for so long. I should look out some of my old poetry - for a giggle, if nothing else!
Yes...I suspect some of my old poems may give a giggle...or a groan!
It has a lot of reminiscing appeal. Makes you want to think back. The end was a little too sudden for me.
I love poetry. I have no idea why. It makes my heart happy.
Favourite:
by your own definition
i drink too deeply
the blood of roses
lean on a leaf
for comfort
mistake mysteriously
a thorn for a star
when the world curls itself
around my fingers
seas gather in my palms
trees sustain the sky
my life lifts to loving
love leaps to living
and without words i strive to answer
questions you have never asked
oh making you understand
is like trying to crush
the skull of a mountain
By Shabbir Banoobhai
Gorgeous - can see why it's a favourite. Love that last bit - a wonderful, wistful expression of frustration.
No, actually i don't care much for poetry, it is something i have to force myself into. It has been that way for many years now & i suspect it has to do with my difficulties reading (a form of dyslexia). Because i tend to reverse words & letters & especially tend to read two lines together, i think poetry tends to mix me up a lot.
I like verse - in music. I love The Highwayman as sung by Loreena McKennitt. So, i think it is the form of poetry that disturbs me, not the thought or words.
I love poetry - I love old fashioned rhyming ones, modern 'shape' ones, haiku, childish limericks...
And I love returning to old favourites AND discovering new treasures.
I used to write poems when I was younger - perhaps I should take it up again [love your stuff, Lucy!]
I like poetry. I don't know why. I don't like being told what to think about a poem or what its meanings are; I think it's wonderful that they can mean completely different things to different people.
I remember writing poetry for an anthology in Mrs Robin's English class, and I don't think I have written any since ( maybe once for English A Level)! I have had some ideas though but never got round to doing anything with them - but I have written my ideas down :O)
The first three poems that jumped to mind were:
Ode on the death of a favourite cat drowned in a tub of goldfishes (http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-on-the-death-of-a-favourite-cat-drowned-in-a/)
The walrus and the carpenter (http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/walrus.html)
Follow thy fair sun unhappy shadow
(http://www.poetryoutloud.org/poems/poem.html?id=173124) but I find this one really sad.
It turns out that I like poems that tell stories. I love Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes. I like other poems too though.
Andrea x
ahhh...Mrs Robin's English class, that takes me back!
I like poems that tell stories too - Roald Dahl included!
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