Shel Silverstein

Growing up there was no poet I loved more than Shel Silverstein. The imagination, the complexity merged with childlike simplicity, and the generally positive attitude of his work have always left me speechless. I remember opening my sister's copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends and reading straight through in one sitting. It was my first poetic experience and it has always stuck with me. Falling Up will always be my favorite collection. The images he drew were beautiful in their crude, ink-blotted style. It was magic on the page.
A few years ago, while I was browsing through the humor section of a bookstore I came across something startling. It was a book of dirty limmericks and accompaning drawings by none other than Shel Silverstein himself. Now I'm not one to be bothered by such things usually, but I must say that I was a bit shocked. How offputting it was, to see my chikdhood idol in this light. I never knew he did anything other than children's literature. After a while though, I became okay with the whole thing. Afterall, the limmericks were funny, and they do not change how much Silverstein's work meant to me as a child. Now, I am about to have my own child, and I cannot wait to read her poems out of Falling Up before bed. They can spark her imagination the way they did mine, so many years ago.

Emily Dickinson

I never really gave Emily Dickinson much of a chance before. I knew she loved to write about death, and I was not too huge on that topic. But then I read a handful of her poems for class, and I was blown away. One in particular stuck out to me, and it was the shortest of them all.

"Faith" is a fine invention
For Gentlemen who see!
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency!

Something about this poem caught my eye. It is humorous first of all, but there is something even deeper here. This poem says a lot for her thoughts on religious matters. They were all well and good for those who could use them, but for the rest of us there is logic. That is how I interpret it anyway. I have written quite extensively about faith in my own personal writings, and I am always fascinated to get other people's opinions on the matter. I am particularly interested when the opinion is not the norm. Dickinson's opinion is certainly not the norm for her time, and that is what I love about it. Well done Emily, well done!

Autumn Leaves

I love this time of year. The colors, the smells, the tastes. Everything about autumn makes me happy. The leaves are one of my favorites. I love seeing the different colors of them before they fall. Of course, once they fall I like them a little less. But raking is not the worst chore in the world though. Here is a poem I wrote about autumn leaves.

Nature’s Great Actors

The leaves are changing

Like millions of little actors

Preparing for their next scene

They are changing

Do they know that the next scene is their death?

Like so many great actors before them

They shall fall, and die

While all around them watch their performance

In hushed awe and interest

They have prepared for this role

All Spring and Summer they have grown

Bearing fruit, nuts, seeds

And rehearsing their lines

They have endured much

And then, the triumphant costume change

All leading up to their opus performance

Their final performance

Late Start

Hello internet,

So, due to illness I am getting a late start on my blog, however I feel I should at least try and do this project. I use to write a poetry blog, and occasionally I still post poems to that one, but do to lack of time my posts have been seldom. I love poetry, both reading and writing it, and so it felt right to focus my blog on it. I think the best way to sum up this post is with a poem of my own.

Writing, when I should be Sleeping

I think of things inside my head

And write them down as they come to me

Free form,

Flowing,

Cascading onto paper

Like a waterfall of words and kinetic energy

Now they are there,

I breath and relax

It is two in the morning,

Another sleepless night of thought.

And now I lay back down,

Goodnight sweet words

No better friend or foe is found than poetry.