Maybe other people don’t go around with words bubbling up like effervescent bubbles, but I don’t believe I’ve lived any other way. My world is littered with notebooks, scraps of paper, blogs, and more. I use pen and keyboards and pencils and voice recorders. Right now, I think if I start putting it out there, something will come of it. I’ll start to see the themes and the stories. I will then bind them into books and pin them in shadowboxes to keep.
What is the point?
Why, simply to show the voices in my head that I’m listening.
And it feels good.
And it makes me feel at peace.
And it makes me feel all alive, not just partially.
My poetry isn’t educated. It doesn’t have rules. I’ve been in classes where punctuation and meter are talked about. I’ve gotten A’s in some of those classes. I have dropped out of a couple because I just was over my head. I either soar or I get by. I get the importance of wordplay. I’ve heard the biographical criticisms, the historical criticisms, and symbolic criticism. I’ve made insightful observations and even had a paper published. I won a scholarship. But that was work. This is life.
So without further to do
I bid you adieu…