When I say I don’t get poetry, I don’t mean I don’t enjoy it. I like it a lot. I just don’t really know the difference between good and great poetry. What I do get is feels from some poetry, and I tend to like that poetry. My aunt Joanie writes what I define as good poetry. When I read it, I can imagine things – a walk through nature, time spent with someone I love.
I certainly don’t know how to write it. But before I got sick I saw part of the Mr. Roger’s documentary (aka best movie of the year even though I haven’t finished it [yes I know I’m a monster {how do you annotate a double nested parenthetical with?}]). It reminded me of the times I’ve been sick as a kid – a lot of those times I spent imagining stories. And I did the same thing this time. Except I also imagined a poem. Which I forgot, mostly. What I remembered I scribbled down here for your amusement. I didn’t finish it because I don’t know how to write poetry. If you don’t like it, don’t worry – I don’t write poetry often. And when I do, I don’t finish it, apparently.
In the still, quiet pain
A voice whispers
A universe unfolds
Atop the folds of my bed sheets
Countless worlds fill the sky
From where I lie
None of them knows
I can see their story
Some like my own
Others a stark contrast
A blazing fire
Against a still, quiet lake
The ones that remain
Bring tears of joy
Tears of pain
Reminders of
Photo by Kaboompics .com from Pexels
My dear Donovan all writing from the heart is good poetry! Love your poetry this morning ~ Aunt Joanie
Thanks for the encouragement and for all you do for the wiring community! You rock!