Why I write Poetry

Writing is an art form and all art is a means of self expression. I weave words not yarn; mix metaphors not paint; rhythm words not chords. Words are my brushes and paper is my canvas. Poetry is the screen shot, screen grab of the writing world, fitting as much as possible in a succinct concise form. It is the literary equivalent of a selfie, a tweet – the Instagram of writing. Poems are this poets answers to the “Why”, attempting to satisfy my urge for closure, even if it is not forthcoming (which often it is not). Everyone is has to figure out there own “Why”, even this poet.

But Why ??

Writing poetry is able to put us in touch with people who are different from ourselves in a non-violent fashion, it becomes a means of pacifist activism. Writing has become who I am, it is both cathartic, healing, confrontational and a means of seeking (partial) closure or venting my darker emotions. My poems are a mix of thoughts, questions and ideas; from journey’s travelled, literal and imaginative; creating a picture of the world from my perspective. Even if, in the writing, there is no closure, that is the closure I require, at that moment.

“Poets have an audience because we need to know how to go about reaching the next day of our lives.”

It has been said, to use a bad metaphor: Poets are kind of like canaries in a coal mine. The conscience/voice of the voiceless. Often my poems, emerge from the pain of personal experience, leading to angry outbursts against the coal mine, in which I from time to time, find myself.

The Arrogance of Entitlement

The Banality of Corporate Deceit

Speaking for myself, but I’m reasonably sure other poets would at times agree. We can’t explain ‘why we write’, but they would certainly understand and agree, that we write for the love of writing poetry. Poems are literary mountains that need to be climbed, in a page or a few lines;  the poem has to be condensed, without straying from the main theme, and it also usually has a beginning, middle and (sometimes) an end. It is this journey which is the challenge, in most cases a deeply personal journey; so walk with me as we step back from your reality and gaze into the abyss of my mind, and let’s see what stares back.

In closing, ponder the words of John Keating from the film: Dead Poets Society.

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.
We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.
And the human race is filled with passion.
And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.
But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.
To quote from Whitman:
"O me! O life!...of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless
of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?"
 
Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play (goes on) and you may contribute a verse.
 
What will your verse be?

John Keating, Dead Poets Society.

A poet writes poetry because they love poetry

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

The Tide is Turning

any day now

the tide will turn

any night now

a full moon sets

a new moon rises

a new dawn fast approaches

when used correctly

it turns the tides of war

morning is not broken

new dawn

new life

new hope

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

 

Morning Dew

a new day dawns

the same as yesterday

but it is oh so different

dew glistens across the valley

casting fast disappearing rainbows

chased by bleeding colours across the sky

a new palette of shades awaits

grasp that brush

visualise your perfect picture

experience new found colours

and shadows

beauty whilst transient is eternal

serendipitous blessings in each new moment

reach out and grasp the day

this ephemeral beauty

must not escape

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

Editorial Assistance Please :)

To all of my followers and gentle readers, I am busy preparing my anthology of poetry to (hopefully) be published by year end. Introduction has been drafted, cover has been designed, back stories for some of the poems penned and a few interesting photos of my working notes have been taken to (hopefully) insert into the anthology. To try and give you the reader, a feel for my writing and creative process, and what it looks like in rough draft/scribble – (hopefully its not to scary).

This is where you dear gentle reader come into the picture,  by helping me to select 30 to 35 poems, some of which are listed on my site:

Michael’s Poems

Tag one of your favourite poems to be included (by commenting on this post), who knows, you might get to read the back story (as to what inspired me to pen that particular poem), or get to see some of the original draft scribbles and scrawls, photographed from my notebook (which is always in my bag or on my person) – as you never know when inspiration is going to walk through the door.

Thanks again for all the likes and follows … see you in the web world 🙂

 

 

A Symbiotic Life

A blog I follow posted the following stunning pictures of moss growing on a tree. The pictures inspired me to write the following poem.

https://withmyheadintheheavens.wordpress.com/2016/10/01/brushstrokes-of-nature

https://withmyheadintheheavens.wordpress.com/2016/09/30/moss-clings-to-bark-creating-new-life/

new life crawls over the old
 masking the scars of the past
 choke, mask, regenerate?
 do we discard progress
so not to mask the past
 is harmony possible?

 
the new need not choke history
like moss
let the new enrich
beautifying the scars of our past travails
old and new
a symbiotic relationship
survival is dependent on the other
 

let the past benefit from the new
without causing harm
both have the ability to harm
the path of balance needs to be learnt
past, present and the way ahead
the way of the cleaning symbiosis
discarding the excess

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

Elijah’s Door

we open the door but no one comes in

but we must always be wiling

to leave the door open

for those with wanderlust to enter

or those with questions to exit



the door to the dark

enter from the dark to the light

or exit out into the dark

either way we can always

while waiting

sip from the chalice at the portal



knowledge brings light to the darkness

making the unknown known

the artist ventures out into the dark

through the open door

to measure the unseen

to tell the story of the unknown



the open door leads out

to all that is not yet known

we can get lost out there

in the vastness and strangeness of the dark

although we can also find harmony

those with wanderlust can become anyone

or no one



the door is always open

if we can find our way back

as the solitary aspect of getting lost is enticing

mystery becomes our compass

we become like Dante traversing

jumping to hell and back

to find ourselves back in paradise

at the open door



always be willing to leave a door open

peace could enter unannounced

future redemption could even enter

or we could exit on another enticing journey

getting lost on a quest for questions

questions that might not have answers

what then comes first?

the question, the answer

or the intention?

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

The Birth of Hope

hope arises from a distant past

barrenness becomes imperfect storm

drought becomes flood

passions spring forth

engaging in a lust-filled union



the expectation of hope is laid

 bringing with it change

pain, discomfort, hope

change forcefully thrust onto the unwitting

the chaos of evolution



darkness waits with expectation

the challenge of darkness

as hopes journey begins

moving from the confines of darkness

down the path to the light



the waiting hand of light beckons

dragging hope to into its arms

moving from the known to the unknown

hope emerges with a scream

it rents the veil of darkness



darkness gives birth to a frail hope

light enfolds hope in its warm embrace

hope like victory is helpless at birth

it has emerged into a world fraught with despair

pushed out into the world to face life’s challenges



history replaces amnesia

history is hopes foundation

futures are built on memories foundation

life is sustained by history’s past

the future is moulded by past scribes



seasons come and go

barren winters pass

always followed by springs new life

hope always springs eternal

from the darkness of winter



hope is risky

hope is trust onto an uncertain future

the belief in the impossible

making the improbable possible

prepared to face loss, disappointment, betrayal



chaos order evolution

all merge into the revolution

of an emerging fading hope

what are we left with

but this inscrutable darkness



which is our future past

this inescapable darkness of new life

from a future past

the last gasp of hope

has not been born yet



hope is victory wrenched from darkness’s grasp

claim your moment of paradise

and then

ONWARD

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

The genie is emerging

My creative genie has been stuck in the bottle for awhile, but lately I have been doing some rubbing and its starting to emerge and unravel. Reading has been my refuge during this period, Have been diving back into doing some reading to whip up my creative juices, and have discovered a few exciting poets (Wislawa Szymborska) … and also been rereading some of my classics. TS Elliots “Wastleland” and the writings of Rebecca Solnit have been the nudge I needed to get me going again.

Been working on (IMO) a epic poem which for now; is called: The Birth of Hope … it so far runs to 8 stanzas and there is still more to write, plus I have a few more ideas/drafts/one-liners that have bubbled to the surface.  My ideas journal is a spiders crawl of ink …

I leave you with this thought that has emerged from my mind today whilst flying to work ..

the last gasp of hope is still to be born
push on for the rebirth

Day Becomes Night

A friend from the twittersphere, @nikkiejanee1972, posted a song lyric with an interesting picture, the image raised many thoughts, ideas and emotions. After a few back and forth tweets, the challenge was laid down, to write a poem about the picture. This is what came out of looking at that photo. I have once again dipped into the music and words of my muses, the image is the one above.

the rollin’ and tumblin’ fog fast approaches

the moon out in space cannot see

as mist drifts over its face

the day becomes night

the night is filled with shadows

the early doom fast approaches



muted misty sounds drift hither, thither and wither

her dress reaches out as she spins round twirling, seeking

twin distant orbs burn holes in the mist

the portal etched into the road becomes visible

a guttural grunt, bark, or cough reaches out and grabs your spine

in the damp chill your hair clings to your neck



Cthulhu roars

 the bloated corpulence of his writhing body

slowly emerges

you are lost in a timeless fog

refusing to be driven insane by gazing on the monstrosity

are you not already dreaming of R'lyeh

how does it feel

to be so alone, with nowhere to roam



any day now the fog will lift and the night will end

truth will be revealed as the fog is clawed back

worldwide insanity and mindless violence

finally displacing humanity forever

or just a dream, within a dream



the landscape slowly claws back the light

gleaming in the golden light of dawn

what does it bring

death and destruction

or coffee

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich

 

Destination Eden

the black snake stretches languidly across the land

unfurled over hills and vales

craning its head back as it beckons, sans hand

come, faster, faster you must prevail



you reach out to attack the black snake

grasping, clutching, familiar smells of the hunt return

bringing with them the pain and ache

you push, feeling the burn, avoiding deaths urn



those familiar markings on the naked skin

as you flick through the curves at high speed

the evocative colours of the original sin

all happening so fast you battle to read



always playing catch up with that snake

but it keeps unfurling further and further

hoping against hope you can still partake

before your fuel vanishes into the ether



this never ending unfolding black dream

eludes all who demand the chase

its best just to sit by the stream

and be enfolded by the soothing grace

of the snakes coup de grace

 

© 2016 Michael D Emmerich