Poetry is an instinct. It can be sharpened, honed, like other instincts. But it’s not something you really learn. It doesn’t come from the mind; it flows through the heart. Poetry is an instinct; the author lets their heart speak, and the reader’s heart travels through time and space to, just for a moment, touch the author’s. Poetry isn’t understood; it’s felt.
Hello, people who read my blog. This is Rowe. I really appreciate you taking the time to look at my work, as I hone my own poetry instinct. The site is about a week old, so I figure I should establish some expectations for myself. Currently, I plan to try and post at least once a day, so long as I have ideas to write about. I’ve been posting a lot this week, so sorry if it’s seemed spammy, but I like to get my work out there.
Once a week I want to have a post like this, where I rant at you, as is proper for a blog. Currently I am planning to limit comments to these posts, for anyone who wants to share something they’ve thought from the week. If a few people want me to open up comments on all my poems, I probably will. I do reserve the right to delete comments (if my website allows me to), but only plan to do so if they are profoundly unconstructive or fairly offensive.
Lastly, I want to share work from others that I’ve enjoyed this week. This week I point you to Poems from OBIT by Victoria Chang. These few poems are a deeply impacting exploration of the grief process, of the moments you remember when grieving. Beautifully descriptive and sorrowful, I felt that contact I spoke of above where my heart and Chang’s were linked.
I’d also like to start doing a spotlight for unpublished poems/poets. If you have some poems you’d like me to consider for next week, please post a link in the comments. I look forward to viewing and learning from your work, as you’ve taken the time to view mine. I’ll get back to posting poetry tomorrow. Once again, thanks for taking the time to read me.