I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

3 April 2015

A Choice, A Destiny

My father read me poems when I was young —
long tales of Hiawatha, night by night
while I lay in bed entranced,
fighting to stay awake to hear it all.

I loved the stirring highwayman
and his brave and tragic Bess,
cringed at the goblin coaxing the nymph
to give up her green glass beads (he loved them so).
I watched, in Flanders Fields, the poppies blow
over the graves of soldiers who were young.

By the time I was seven, I knew:
I wanted to create beauty,
to spend my life on that.
And the greatest beauty I could create,
being human and not God,
was, to my ear, poetry.

Later, I read it for myself, on the page,
learned to appreciate the nuances, the craft;
discovered freer, subtler ways.
But then I was a child
in the days of no TV, only radio.
I listened to songs
to find out rhyme and rhythm,
I experimented, explored …
and never looked back.


April is Poetry Month. This year I am responding to the 'Poems in April' prompts at imaginary garden with real toads, the first of which is, What Sparked Your Poetic Heart?


4 comments:

  1. A lovely poem. Thank you so much for sharing your talent.

    ReplyDelete
  2. YES! and the world is richer for it!!!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. I'm so enchanted by parents who plant wonderful art-seeds in their children's hearts... ♥

    ReplyDelete
  4. To hear your father read is surely a treasured memory ~

    ReplyDelete