“My poems are about life, living, love . . . and surviving those setbacks we all have that feel so world-shattering when they happen.” —Patricia Petro
There was a time when my daughter considered it odd that I actually enjoyed reading the dictionary. I would curl up on our couch with my trusted Webster’s and well-worn Roget’s and read, pleased with myself when I found a word I liked. She was very young and could not imagine liking any word so much that she would want to write it down.
by Barry Cornwall
Look , look!
The summer rises in her cheeks.
A blush, as hot as June,
comes flooding o’er
Her too proud paleness.
Warms all her brow,
and beauty, quite abashed,
Droops her twin stars to earthward.
At an early age I read a lot and came to realize the power of words.
Words can soothe or cut through like a knife. They can stir the imagination . . . capture a moment . . . express emotions. You can convey the intensity of a feeling, change meaning, or create a picture with the right words. To say the girl’s cheeks were red, tells you one thing; but to say her cheeks flushed with excitement is the start of a story. With a clever use of words, even the shortest poem becomes pure magic.
Poetry has a rhythm that sings to my soul.
It was Gustave Flaubert who wrote, “There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it.” Wikepedia tells us that Flaubert had a “scrupulous devotion to his art and style, best exemplified by his endless search for le mot juste (the right word).”
I suffer the same affliction.
Writing poems is not easy for me. The right words get caught on the tip of my brain refusing to reveal themselves. Sometimes I need to tap into my very soul and draw blood to find the way that best articulates what I am truly feeling.
For me, poetry is all about feeling—how one feels about life, living, and love (or the lack thereof)—and putting those feelings into words that paint the whole picture in a nice, succinct turn of phrase.
“Poetry has been to me an exceeding great reward; it has soothed my affliction; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared my solitude; and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.” —Samuel Taylor Coleridge/span>
I like my poems. Though they defy the rules and might never earn universal acclaim nor a Pulitzer, they stir memories—both good and bad—and evoke the same feelings I had when I first wrote them. Since we all share the same human struggles and feelings, I’m hoping my poems will strike a chord in others.