I like writing poetry
except for the writing part
Writing poetry is an art from the heart. If there is work in writing poetry, of which I don’t find much, it somehow relates to brain functioning. My favorite definition of writing poetry is the heart and the brain making love. Making love is usually about the experience itself rather than some particular outcome. Of course, if you are trying to make a baby, this would be a notable and epic exception. Quite oddly, the reader gets the final product, the poem, the baby if you will. And like most babies, they can be quite messy, even a complete mystery. Plus, the parent consistently finds their own babies more beautiful than others. Most importantly, the poet gets the experience of composing the poem, the making love. In my opinion, the poet gets the much better portion. No doubt, a great poem can replicate much of the joy in the reading as in the composing. Nonetheless, there is something intimate, personal, and even private, that the poet alone garners. This poem alludes to the fact that the actual writing of a poem can often be the work or effort expended to make accessible some of the poet’s inspiration to others. This may be the least beneficial aspect to the poet. Certainly, poets would like to experience a resonance and appreciation of others. Perhaps more certainly, the poet cannot expect much tangible compensation. Thus, to the poet, the composing is often the most treasured aspect. There is sometimes a chasm between the intense joy of creating and the created, a mere image of the creator’s experience. This can leave the final product, the written poem, seeming something like word porn, unable to capture the act of making love, except perhaps as peeping into another’s private act. Hopefully, on a good day, my poems will be experienced as heart-mind erotica. If not, just screw it!
