I have been writing (mostly bad) poetry since I was 21. This is very odd considering I absolutely hate poetry. Poetry drives me up a wall. As a form of writing, it tends to be overly impressed with itself. If someone wishes to say something, it's best just to come out and say it instead of tying it up in uselessly colorful words that confuse the entire situation.
So . . . now that I've gone on a rant about how much I dislike poetry . . . Let's get back to the fact that I write it. *sigh* The fact of the matter is, poetry is a very useful tool for writers. It's a way to get concepts, images and ideas onto paper and experiment with words. It's also awesome for saying lovey-dovey-gushy stuff.
Please understand that this was written before I was writing consistently. The technical merits of the writing are . . . non-existent. It could be written much better, but I'm not going to edit it. I figure this will keep me from becoming too impressed with myself if I hit it big. ;)
Explanation of this poem
This is the first poem I wrote. I decided to give writing a shot and based upon what I did here, I thought I was pretty good. In spite of that delusion, I continued to write and now almost have delusions of success.
I was raised in the Mojave Desert. It truly is a beautiful place when one spends some time and accepts it. I found myself just sitting and staring for hours. The desert revealed itself to me. One of these days I'm going to have to try writing a poem about it that's actually decent, so that perhaps you will be able to see what I once did.
The poem (cue coffee shop atmosphere where everyone wears black turtlenecks and snaps their fingers when it's done)
The Aesthetic Desert
Looking out over the desert
I can see for miles and miles
I'm standing on top of a butte
The desert surrounds me
In the day, the sky is so clear and clean
Wonderful blue, streaked with thin cream
At night, there are trillions upon trillions of star
Darkest black, sparked with brilliant white
I am in love with the desert
It is one of the most beautiful works of art
My words can't come close enough
The desert lives in me
So much life, animals that call it home
Alive and moving, creatures that know no fear
Extraordinary life, brush and cactus making it home
Strong plants, providing shelter for the animals
This aesthetic desert is harsh
Gusty winds that attempt to blow away life
Freezing nights stopping all movement
The glaring sun ruthlessly ruling the sky and land
Survival, this is the test
The hardiest, only they may survive it
The losers, they leave it as lesser beings
The survivors, they know true strength and beauty
I walk at one with the desert
I am at peace with myself and the desert
I revel in the life and in the survival
The aesthetic desert surrounds me
Copyright 8 August 1991 John H. Carroll
12 comments:
Interesting post, this was really useful. thanks!
I hate poetry too, yet every now and again, I find myself jotting one down. That said, I don't think I've written a poem in about a year, and that was only written because I had to.
I don't mind writing them so much even though it's been a while. They're quite for a writer.
I can't stand reading them though! And I definitely don't want to listen to it. It doesn't even matter if it's a classic. Blah.
It's a bit cruel of me to share mine, but I like making my readers suffer every now and then. :D
Im extremely impressed with your writing skills as well as with the layout on your weblog. Is this a paid theme or did you modify it yourself? Either way keep up the excellent quality writing, it is rare to see a great blog like this one these days..
@Anonymous #1, you're welcome and thanks. :)
@Anonymous #2,
I modified the theme myself with a picture of galaxies off of Wikimedia. Thank you very much for the compliment. :)
All my best,
John
Such a small think. ;-) But such a great idea
Thank you. :)
I like it. At first i thought you were pulling legs when i read your bio. Guess not. I dont like sock drawers, even if their clean! Lol
Thanks! lol, I really was kept in a dresser drawer although I don't know if socks were normally kept in it. My parents had 7 kids and I was the youngest. There were times when they were very poor. That was what they could provide at the time. My eldest sister likes to tell me of a lot of the times.
Such a small think. ;-) But such a great idea
Just read one of your short stories about the boy who never changed... I liked it! Keep up the awesome work :) I hope to be a writer someday as well!
Hi Caitlin!
Thank you. :) I'm definitely writing more.
Writing is really enjoyable and hard work all at the same time. It's definitely worth giving a try and I hope you succeed. :)
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