A Room For Poetry

Poetry is important to me. When I read poetry, my mind is at peace. I liken it to a form of personal meditation as I find myself quite focused. I am able to be quiet. There are few things in life I do where I can say that. Once during a skiing lesson, my instructor stopped me, held my gaze and simply said ‘Try to keep your body quiet.’ This may sound strange to some, but I knew exactly what he meant and then I proceeded down that mountain unintentionally making a lot of noise. More practice required there. Thankfully, staying quiet comes quite naturally for me while reading poetry. I have read a few poems of late by Octavio Paz. In his lecture Poetry and Modernity he speaks of his passion for poetry and expresses “Poetry has been for me not only an everyday task and an invincible affection but also a vice, a fate, and ultimately, a cult, a personal religion.” I feel his passion in his words. A wonderfully beautiful poem of his worth reading is titled Sunstone – it is quite lengthy an...

Laughter lading in the labyrinth of lust The lucent ladybird lands for luck Lamenting low labial love Love abundant Lovelorn Lovesome Leaving Loved Loquacious languid lyricisms by Janet Jarrell We two are to ourselves a crowd. Ovid

April is Poetry Month Acid In Jakarta, among the vendors of flowers and soft drinks, I saw a child with a hideous mouth, begging, and I knew the wound was made for a way to stay alive. What I gave him wouldn't keep a dog alive. What he gave me from the brown coin of his sweating face was a look of cunning. I carry it like a bead of acid to remember how, once in a while,you can creep out of your own life and become someone else- an explosion in that nest of wires we call the imagination. I will never see him again, I suppose. But what of this rag, this shadow flung like a boy's body into the walls of my mind, bleeding their sour taste- insult and anger, the great movers? Mary Oliver

Sometimes when I look in the mirror and my hair hangs curled under I look distinguished That is a nice way of saying older I like the look but I am not yet ready to see it It is at these moments when I wonder what my young lover sees Does his head cock to the side in question Doubts seeps in I mention the age gap to a friend She dismisses it with “who cares?” I am relieved but push on I suggest maybe I should give my young lover up let him mature for a few years, let him ‘sow some wild oats’ “Isn’t that what he is doing with you?” She apologizes A good truth told By Janet Jarrell Post poem; A mirror helps one reflect... Postscript; Thank you to all of my family, personal friends and blogger friends whom have read, supported and contributed to my blog. Thank you to Dave whom encouraged me to get started. I have enjoyed this experience and I look forward to exploring the myriad of blogs, bloggers and communities I have encountered with similar passions. With many emotions, my smile simpl...

Our perfect August Our lambent time The hour, month, season Hast thou passed so Suddenly Nay, in time You have naught but slept Wake now thee love See how it has suffered Under your euphoric spell Comfort creates the nest Complacency settles in (…poem interrupted by life) With Love On Love By Janet Jarrell