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How to Write a Poem (and Why This Will Help You Become a Better Writer)

how to write a poemRecently, I re-read a little book I created some years ago.

It’s a book of poems.

I collected my poems and then ‘published’ them in a book I handcrafted myself.

It made a special gift for my loved ones.

I’m not what people call ‘a poet,’ but I do tend to write poems now and then. Especially at key moments of my life.

The poems I created some years ago trigger memories, emotions and sentiments.

They are like condensed journal entries.

 

Do you write poems?

Not? Well, maybe you should.

Writing a poem means paring down your experience to just a few words or phrases.

 

This is great training for whatever else you write.

I know that my own writing has been shaped and improved by writing poems.

When you write a poem, the challenge is to capture a moment, a feeling or a fleeting thought. Here is one of my poems that invokes a moment when my son, Sebastian, went to visit his new-born half-sister.

 

Little Red Car

He waved to me

As he got onto the plane

Lifting his skateboard high

In his luggage

The little red car

For his new sister.

At the big old house

He used to play with it

In his room halfway up the landing,

Pushing it over the blue vinyl

With gold flecks

He was little then

And liked to crawl into my bed

At night.

When I pushed him out of my body

And gathered him to my heart

All wet and tiny

No one told me

He would become a man

The very next day.

 

Some simple suggestions on how to write a poem

 

First of all, it’s important to let go of any ideas of writing a ‘good’ poem. Your poems are memories frozen in time. They don’t need to be important to anyone else.

Here are a few pointers that make writing poems enjoyable:

 

Focus on a particular moment

 

Poems work best if you focus on a moment that expresses an emotion or is a metaphor for an idea.

Such moments occur every day. We just need to notice them.

Imagine you see a cicada shell on the ground. At that moment you might remember that cicadas emerge from years in the ground – and then only live and sing for a couple of weeks. Here is what Zen poet Basho made of such a moment:

Shell of a cicada

It sang itself away

completely

The more details you use, the more vivid your poem will be. Sensory details help your readers to identify emotionally with your poem.

Here are some questions to elicit sensory details:

 

If your poem is set in a location, what do you see?

What colors are there?

What do you hear?

What do you taste or smell?

 

If a person is the focus of your poem, what details are telling?

What do they look like?

What do they say?

What do they see?

 

Here is a short poem with rich details by William Carlos Williams

 

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

 

The fun of found poems

found poetry

A found poem uses words from non-poetic contexts and turns them into poetry. It’s like a collage. You can find scraps of sentences in your everyday life and put them together to make a poem.

Here is where you can find material for your language collage:

  • instruction books
  • recipes
  • scraps of conversations
  • horoscopes
  • textbooks
  • dictionaries
  • graffiti
  • phone messages, notes you’ve written to yourself
  • shopping lists
  • billboards

Here are two examples of found poems. The first one is by William Whewell who found the following poem in a treatise of mechanics:

 An Elementary Treatise on Mechanics

Hence no force,

however great,

can stretch a cord,

however fine,


into a horizontal line

which is accurately straight.

 

The poet Hart Seely found poetry in the speeches and news briefings of Donald Rumsfeld. Here is one of his tongue-in-cheek poems:

 Unknown

 As we know,

There are known knowns.

There are things we know we know.

We also know

There are known unknowns.

That is to say

We know there are some things

We do not know.

But there are also unknown unknowns,

The ones we don’t know

We don’t know.

 

If you want to create a ‘found poem,’ make sure you carry a notebook around with you. Jot down any interesting bits of language you find. You’ll find that your ordinary life turns into a treasure hunt!

 

 Editing: the crucial phase

 

The most important part of writing a poem is to pare it down to the essential. When you edit your poem, you need to test every word to see if it can be left out.

If you are lucky, you might end up with just a few words.

Here is a celebrated poem by William Carlos Williams where most of the content is pared away, and only a few poignant words remain:

 

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

 

 

What about you?

 

Do you write poems? If so, please share your poem so we can all enjoy it.

Or maybe you have a favorite poem someone else wrote?

Please share your poems and thoughts in the comment section.

 

About the author:

Mary Jaksch is Editor-in-Chief at Write to Done. Grab her FREE report How to Write Like an A-List Blogger.  Mary has helped thousands of students successfully create profitable blogs at  A-List Blogging and is the blogger behind Goodlife Zen. 

Thanks to Bigstockphoto.com for Brunette Lying on Grass
Found Poem on Flickr.

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67 thoughts on “How to Write a Poem (and Why This Will Help You Become a Better Writer)”

  • george says:
    March 24, 2014 at 5:55 am

    My Pictures and Words

    This is a little book I published via Blurb last year. It’s a collection of verse and pictures inspired by each other. You can preview it – or even buy it, if it grabs you! No, it’s not a sales pitch – just an offer to look. (The book is in square format – I don’t know why it’s changed to a 4×6 landscape on the preview page!)

    If anyone wishes to comment on the “pictures and words” concept, I’d be interested in any feedback.

    Thanks,

    :) george

    Reply
    • Mary Jaksch says:
      March 24, 2014 at 3:36 pm

      I had a look George. I love the way you use evocative images and then short poems underneath!
      Mary Jaksch recently posted..How to Cultivate Intelligent Movement for Mind and BodyMy Profile

      Reply
      • george says:
        March 24, 2014 at 6:21 pm

        Thanks for taking the time for a look, Mary. Can you see what I’m trying to achieve? Would the words stand on their own, without the pictures, able to create their own imagery?

        An example from my book, without the accompanying picture -.does it evoke the same emotions?

        “River Roses”

        An Autumn afternoon.
        Beside the languid river,
        a gentle breeze stirs russet leaves.
        Sweet, tinkling songs of Bellbirds
        ring through the fragrant air.

        How strange then, was it to discover
        four disembodied roses
        floating forlornly midst the reeds.
        Still fresh and in full bloom.
        Alone. Abandoned. Thrown away.

        Perhaps they float here “In Memorium”
        to mark the passing of a friend.
        Or cast away after a merry feast.
        A melancholic possibility exists:
        Detritus of an unrequited love.

        Reply
  • Amandah says:
    March 24, 2014 at 5:55 am

    I write poems and have entered poetry contests. A few years ago, one of my poems, “Welcome to Hell,” was published in the Ohio Writer Newsletter. Click here to read it. The poem is based on a cover of the Ohio Writer Newsletter.

    Cat lovers will enjoy “A Cat’s Prayer”

    Have a great day and week ahead!
    Amandah recently posted..How to Choose the Right Social Media Network without Pulling Your Hair OutMy Profile

    Reply
  • Mani says:
    March 24, 2014 at 6:03 am

    I’ve been writing poetry for decades. Here’s one from the vault.

    Time Traveling

    Guardians and gatekeepers
    watchmen and bell towers
    travelers and talismans
    town squares and lattes
    bartering for forebearance
    morning light and falling stars
    trepidation and continuance
    mysticism and myopia
    deliverance and domination
    the vessel and the open road
    abstinence and absolution
    rising tide and receding shore
    the truth and the telling
    the soul and the deathbed
    birthing the hours slowly
    in the blinking dawn
    of something else entirely
    Mani recently posted..How to End Your Love Affair With Playing it Safe (Even if You’re Terrified)My Profile

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  • Patricia says:
    March 24, 2014 at 6:30 am

    I’m a blogger and this is only my second or third try at writing poems. I wrote this one describing how I felt after an incident that changed me. That changed who I thought I was.

    Words Say What My Heart Conceal by Patricia Storbeck (me)

    i lost track of myself
    sun filled sky
    warm blue water
    white sails
    truly lost all trace of me
    he fleetingly owned my heart
    caught in a dream
    delicious fragile transparent unreal
    the girl i’ve been
    became a woman
    the one i searched for
    created
    destiny shuffled the cards
    grey suffocating sky
    cold pewter sea
    empty foot prints
    lost lonely
    images of the past
    came in dreams
    never left
    my voice begged to be heard
    slowly
    as my skin absorbed sunshine
    the yearning
    for something i couldn’t yet name
    unfurled
    became real and
    guided by the stars
    the exhilarating ripple
    of your voice
    a wild tonic in the rain
    your presence smiled
    around me
    all my life i’ve waited
    for a moment
    perfect enough
    to confess it to you
    Patricia recently posted..How to Mend a Broken FriendshipMy Profile

    Reply
  • Cheryl Ricker says:
    March 24, 2014 at 7:40 am

    Thanks for the post. I write both literary and popular poetry in all different styles. Here is a poem from my book, A Friend in the Storm, written from God’s point of view.

    In Tune

    When you call me I will answer.
    I will calm you to the quick.
    I feel deep inside each flattening ache
    that leaves your insides sick.

    Since I made you in my power,
    not one cell, synapse, or nerve,
    not one groaning of your spirit
    ever passes me unheard.
    Cheryl Ricker recently posted..U.S. Son on Malaysia FlightMy Profile

    Reply
  • Katherine James says:
    March 24, 2014 at 8:03 am

    I am always writing snippets of poetry, but nothing too lengthy (mostly just word-play experiments).

    Here is a piece about the wonder that is the London travel system:

    Three Come At Once

    Tasting waning patience on the tip of my tongue;
    Thumb out, I inhale the last exhausted minute of the rush hour;
    A bile of frustration builds at the back of my throat;
    As a triad of red, caravans towards me.
    Katherine James recently posted..How To Listen Your Way To Freelance Writing SuccessMy Profile

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  • Lori Schafer says:
    March 24, 2014 at 9:38 am

    I’m not much of a poet, but here’s one I’ve had kicking around for years. I still like it, although I think it probably isn’t very good. Comments welcome!

    TOMBOY

    Knees and elbows, bloody and rough
    From countless harsh encounters
    With the concrete constituting the playing field.
    Legs and arms forever scarred
    By repeated adeptly avoided visits
    To the emergency room for stitches.
    Tangled hair and holey clothes
    Laugh down from the higher branches
    Or splash delightedly from the deeper waters.
    And the requisite disgusted spit
    Issues each time one of the boys
    Surprises her with a kiss on the lips.
    Lori Schafer recently posted..Novel Excerpt: Just the Three of UsMy Profile

    Reply
  • Cynthia Pearson says:
    March 24, 2014 at 10:23 am

    Here is one that I wrote about the character of creativity :

    Creativity

    Creativity…

    Inside is darkly obscure,
    Plunging you deeper
    Into the abyss.

    And when you clutch
    At air there’s nothing
    To stop your

    Fall…

    You’re awake
    And then,
    It’s gone.

    Cynthia Pearson

    Reply
  • Vic Vosen says:
    March 24, 2014 at 10:27 am

    Congealed Effervescence

    wiggidy wump the frigid corpse
    hits the floor. “too many sins,”
    claim wrens pecking near
    “No dear, ’twas the fear,”
    ravens state peering at fate
    with a dinner leer gleaming
    upon their faces pacing adjacent.
    pacing closer to view the boon
    to the forest folks’ resources.
    “Tear the hair,” declare the wrens.
    “peck the flesh,” stress the ravens.
    “But it’s only a poem spun from rainbows,”
    declaims an owl down to the ground,
    “and that my folk feeds the soul.
    So dine friends with minds divine,
    with christs’ cup from magic height
    and rejoice the gift given present
    for life is to live and be loved today
    with vigil and intellect
    for tomorrow won’t harmonize by its own.

    Reply
  • Dawn says:
    March 24, 2014 at 10:47 am

    A novel ending

    This twist that bends my
    Muse inwards, reaches
    An aching dead end.
    Thrilling beginning lost
    Now She writhes
    In unfinished sentence
    Mid arc and climax.
    I hurt for her, but
    Darkness takes my ink away
    I cannot breathe her
    Another line. Nor
    String her a scene
    To emerge elsewhere.

    Reply
  • Marcy McKay says:
    March 24, 2014 at 11:02 am

    Your poems are lovely, Mary. I’m curious…what are the key moments in your life that drive you to poetry? I rarely write poems, but love it when I do. It’s always more challenging to write less, but then many times, less is more. Thanks for the great post!

    Reply
  • Beverley H. Hanes says:
    March 24, 2014 at 11:05 am

    What beautiful way to teach us how to write. I love writing poetry and have been now for awhile. I posted you on facebook and tweeted this too. You are the best! Thanks for sharing your heart with us and especially me. I will come back and post a poem. Got to run now.
    Beverley H. Hanes recently posted..The Last Day of 2013My Profile

    Reply
  • Fiyin says:
    March 24, 2014 at 11:08 am

    Great stuff. I used to fancy myself as a poet once upon a time. I really appreciate your breakdown of the poetry writing art. It’s very insightful and it certainly made me more aware of the finer aspects. Keep doing what you’re doing, you’ve inspired me to want more.

    Reply
  • Riana Inger says:
    March 24, 2014 at 11:42 am

    An African village, birthed from water and soil,
    Patterned earthenware vessels, bubble and boil.
    Flaming logs flickering high,
    Crackling forth into the midnight sky.

    Somber men, taut in face and sinew,
    Gather in a circle, dim in view.
    Discussions are held in deep low tones,
    Occasionally interrupted by the throwing of bones.

    They speak of their day, the hunt and kill,
    Out doing one another in power and skill.
    They speak of the woman, the young and old,
    Placing them in ranks – frail, naïve and the bold.

    They speak of the young ones, knowing each ones name,
    Making those accountable, who’re to blame.
    They seek sage men for counsel, when they’re not clear,
    What path to follow? Which direction to steer?

    This village birthed from water and soil,
    Held together by hands of men, woman and children, who toil.
    Reveals many clues to where we’ve gone wrong,
    Losing sense of our purpose and where we belong.

    Riana Inger

    Reply
  • Dan Frost says:
    March 24, 2014 at 12:36 pm

    Anyone can string words together, most often prose in illogical or strange format, and they call it a poem. Okay, call it a poem, but that does not make it poetry. Many do not understand that poetry is far greater. Yes, anyone can write a poem. Anyone can spread paint from Homeless Depot, but that does not make them an artist.

    Dan Frost

    Reply
  • Mona AlvaradoFrazier says:
    March 24, 2014 at 1:24 pm

    It surprised me when I began writing poems seven months ago. Truthfully, words just came to me (particularly during stressful times) and I jotted them down, revised them to take out redundant words, etc.

    Since then I’ve been reading much more poetry.

    Your article has provided me with some steps to improve as writing poems isn’t easy and isn’t only about rhyming.

    Thank you for sharing your techniques.

    Reply
  • David says:
    March 24, 2014 at 1:33 pm

    This is how I know You

    To watch as the sun rises in the morning
    in its travels across the great expanse
    of the heavens, giving up it’s warmth and light
    to a cold and lonely, destitute world.
    This is how I see you.

    To know when spring arrives with all of its blessings.
    Its gentle breeze carries with it the fragrance
    and perfumes contained in the flowers
    of the field to delight and soothe.
    This is how I smell you.

    To be still and listen to the heartbeat of the world.
    From the sweet laughter of an innocent child,
    to hearing the majestic roar of the ocean
    as it crashes its waves against a rocky shoreline.
    This is how I hear you.

    To be close as a mother holds her newborn child,
    her fingers spread wide like a net, caressing and comforting.
    Nothing else in the world matters to her as she completes
    that mysterious bond of life with tender embrace.
    This is how I feel you.

    To become delirious in the pleasures of knowing
    the sensuous flavors and delicate textures of the fruits of life.
    To become enraptured in all of God’s creation and
    to kiss your tender lips and feel the passions returned.
    This is how I taste you.

    When the feelings of pain and anguish envelope me
    in the depths of my darkest hour.
    All I have to do is close my weary eyes and dream.
    All of the torments of life disappear.

    To be replaced by the gentle warmth of your light,
    the soothing fragrance of your body.
    the sweet music of your laughter,
    the sensual feelings of your touch,
    and the delicate taste of your heart’s desire.
    This is how I know you.

    Reply
  • Riana Inger says:
    March 24, 2014 at 3:25 pm

    Finding myself in a contemplative mood last week, while watching the sun go down, these thoughts came to my mind.

    REFLECTIONS

    Is the sun merely an orb suspended from above exuding warmth and light?
    Or is it a reflection of God’s magnificence and LOVE? – A powerful sight.

    Does the wind blow in every direction essentially for the planting of seeds?
    Or is it a reflection of God’s Holy Spirit stirring our soul? – Feeding our needs.

    Do showers of rain simply fall from the clouds to quench parched ground?
    Or is it a reflection of Jesus Christ cleansing our sins? – Maintaining us sound.

    Is the fertile soil purely a place for plants that have sprouted and grown?
    Or is it a reflection of eternity when we yield to the dust? – Reap what we’ve sown.

    Riana Inger

    Reply
  • Mary Jaksch says:
    March 24, 2014 at 4:08 pm

    Thanks for your poem, David. I’m impressed that you managed to pull off a love poem.
    Mary Jaksch recently posted..Take this Fun Quiz to Find Out What Makes a Blog SuccessfulMy Profile

    Reply
  • vmakel says:
    March 24, 2014 at 4:19 pm

    hi this is great,with this i will mold my self into the poet i want to be.thank you.

    Reply
  • Mary Meyer says:
    March 24, 2014 at 5:18 pm

    I really needed this today Mary! Thank you. After years of writing B2B articles in the healthcare industry, I was feeling like a needed something to keep me interested in freelance writing. I was so inspired by your post that I wrote my first ever poem in 15 minutes. Your guidance was so incredibly practical, I’m going to keep it up. I think it will really help me wade through the daily grind of colonoscopies, Obamacare and heart valve surgical techniques. Bless you!

    Reply
  • Joy Acey says:
    March 24, 2014 at 7:58 pm

    The thing that makes William Carlos Williams’ RED WHEELBARROW such an elegant poem is that each stanza is a wheelbarrow shape–a concrete poem.
    Joy Acey recently posted..Blooming TreesMy Profile

    Reply
  • Beth Havey says:
    March 24, 2014 at 8:35 pm

    So glad that you used William Carlos Williams as an example of a great poet.

    Mary Oliver is fantastic too and Billy Collins is one of my favorites. Beth Havey
    Beth Havey recently posted..Dive Into Nature This SpringMy Profile

    Reply
  • George says:
    March 24, 2014 at 10:35 pm

    I have never written poetry, but this post clearly showed how it can make me a better writer.

    The fact that poetry makes you look at every single word and it’s value really changes the way I look at the value of words in blog posts.

    This was an unexpected but very beneficial lesson! Thank you!
    George recently posted..7 Warning Signs That You’re Destined To Be AloneMy Profile

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  • vmakel says:
    March 25, 2014 at 10:15 am

    like i was born out of
    misery, my heart and soul
    have found blasphemy as reality,seeking fortunes beyond
    the blue heavens
    dear lord the hand you gave me.
    The hand you gifted me
    has betrayed me.
    Guys tell me if i have an idea,is there any chance i can make it.

    Reply
    • Riana Inger says:
      March 25, 2014 at 12:46 pm

      vmakel, Iam certain your poem of melancholy resonates with many. Therefore it’s a resounding yes, you can make it.

      Reply
  • Patrick says:
    March 25, 2014 at 1:08 pm

    Always be a poet, even in prose. ~Charles Baudelaire

    Reply
  • vmakel says:
    March 25, 2014 at 3:40 pm

    great guys

    Reply
  • Sue says:
    March 25, 2014 at 8:16 pm

    I like writing tetractys, a 20 syllable poem with 5 lines, arranged as 1,2,3,4,10 syllables. An example:

    small
    perfect
    dimpled sphere
    fulfil my goal,
    avoid getting lost, go into the hole

    They are usually written centred but I don’t know how to do that here.

    Reply
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  • P V Ramanujam says:
    March 26, 2014 at 1:22 pm

    Mind is a minefield
    Set it off, reap weed
    Set it right, feel untroubled.

    Reply
  • JL Olsen says:
    March 26, 2014 at 4:23 pm

    Daddy’s Girl
    By
    J L Olsen

    We were sitting next to each other,
    Chatting after church.
    His daughter came in and stood over him.
    Leaning against his broad shoulders,
    She began to rub the palm of her hand
    Over his buzz-cut hair.
    He didn’t stop talking with me,
    Just put his arm around her hips
    And submitted, willingly, to her charming petting.
    I watched, enviously. T
    The beloved daughter adorably disrespectful;
    And, I, the daughter of a different man– never really in my life;
    Who was locked away by emotional pain and alcohol,
    And I sighed with regret and deep longing.

    Reply
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  • felgi stalowe says:
    March 27, 2014 at 10:57 am

    Its such as you study my head! Material have an understanding of a lot about this, just like you submitted a tutorial inside it or anything. I do think which you could possibly use several Per-cent to be able to electric power your message dwelling somewhat, but apart from that, that is great blog. An outstanding go through. I will absolutely return.

    Reply
  • Thanu Rajapakse says:
    March 29, 2014 at 3:02 am

    Fly
    There are moments in life
    That’s full of mist and darkness
    You can’t see a way out
    No road to lead you to light.
    Sometimes you get trapped
    Trapped inside yearnings
    When you see no way
    To earn it.
    When dreams go farther
    And you feel lost more than ever
    When it’s hard to find hope,
    Just keep on living
    Breath and relaxing
    Once you get your wings
    You can fly
    You can fly and chase the dreams
    You can fly to the light,
    No road in need
    Not lost when you ride the wind.
    Don’t let anything stop you
    Or get in your way and hold you
    You are one in a million I know you
    So fly to your dreams

    Reply
  • Frank says:
    April 1, 2014 at 9:02 pm

    I feel a poem is a way of expressing your inner feelings and thoughts. I find it easier to pass a message to politicians, citizens and worshippers. It like a song only that anyone can recite. I do love poems, its my passion

    Reply
  • Anna says:
    April 3, 2014 at 11:38 am

    I wrote this several years back when I was working as a wildland firefighter. The poem is a depiction of real life events that happened on night on the fire when we all had to move camp because someone thought the prairie dogs in the area we were camping were diseased.

    Oh those Prairie Dogs, how they do conspire
    to create panic and wreak havoc
    with all the folks
    On the Virgin fire

    Prairie dogs in fire camp
    are moving slow.
    Oh no! What to do
    because they just won’t go!

    Prairie dogs in camp,
    they have no fear
    They don’t run
    When humans are near.

    They must have the plague,
    or Monkey Pox!
    We MUST move camp before
    we all get knocked out of our socks.

    Hurry up! We have to move the camp!
    You’ll be taking down and
    setting up that tent again
    by headlamp.

    Oops! We forgot.
    names and numbers
    of those in camp
    we have not got.

    Now it’s hurry up and wait
    the lines grow long
    as our records
    we up date.

    At our new camp
    we finally arrive.
    At least to the fire
    we now have a shorter drive.

    The plague scare is now history
    No need to worry.
    The cause of the problem
    is no longer a mystery.

    Sorry we got you all pissed
    for a few little Prairie dogs
    that just got squished!

    Reply
  • Felix says:
    April 5, 2014 at 4:26 pm

    DREAM WALKING

    The bright sun rises and shines;
    Death like a thief appears and kills,
    Even a lonely flower with joy blooms and smiles.
    They are always who they are.

    It is easier to be natural
    Than a cocktail of natural
    And super-natural.

    A flower is always itself because it has no choice.
    But for a man, O he has to choose to be himself.
    Shall then flowers be better than us?

    Not so if you realize
    That you are nothing but a dream.
    Your tears and fears are nothing but an illusion;
    But your cheers and faith are who you are.

    What yearnings do you hold deep inside your heart?
    What wishes?
    Those are the seed of thy life!
    Don’t hide them in a hive,
    But make them shine brightly like the sun;
    For a dream is not a private thing,
    But a light that must be put on the table.

    What shall I compare a dream to?
    A dream is like the moon:
    We see and feel it,
    But often seems out of reach.

    A dream is a lonely journey which only you
    Can travel.
    You could look all around
    And find no company,
    But you Must still continue moving forward.

    A dream is not what people say about you,
    But what your creator says about you.
    It often makes no sense to people
    Because they have no clue about
    The plans God has for your life.

    A dream is a hot thing,
    Which you either hold onto or drop.
    And you can only hold onto it:
    If you allow it
    To Burn and consume you;
    To refine you as gold is refined with fire.
    If you allow it
    To be a thing you could die for.

    A dream is more powerful than death;
    For even God in his dream to redeem mankind,
    Died on the cross!

    Are you a dreamer?
    What is standing in the way?
    Is it the lack of money?
    Is it people’s opinions?
    Is it doubt?
    Is it the habit of procrastination?
    Whatsoever it be;
    Thy dream like a sword
    Can cut through them all!

    Above is a special poem that I wrote. How well does it conform to the recommended standards for writing poems?

    Reply
  • janice says:
    April 13, 2014 at 9:20 am

    Hi Mary,
    Hope all’s well. I’ve been cyber-hibernating and haven’t visited for a while. Years, when I think about it. It made me smile to pop in and find a post about poetry that includes your favourite Basho poem.:) It sounds clichéd, but I had to be offline to get healthy and creative again, to re-engage with life so I’d actually have something to write about. I rediscovered notebooks, pencils, quote-hunting and carrying books to cafés. I learned to stand still again, to watch the bee on the jasmine instead of rushing indoors to get my camera to photogaph it for a post.

    Whenever I’m not writing, I realise it’s because I’m not open, not living deeply enough, with presence and awareness or I’m feeling something so powerful, so painful, it’s shut me down because I daren’t relive it through writing. I love the way Wordsworth distils the relationship between engaged living and zen writing:

    Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity. ~ Wordsworth

    janice recently posted..The Desire MapMy Profile

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  • facebook says:
    September 20, 2014 at 2:51 pm

    Is there a copyright or anything on content in Youtube videos?

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    September 27, 2014 at 11:13 am

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