creativity

Two posts in one day! Pretend its because I'm trying to make up for those past empty weeks.

I'm taking a world poetry class at the college in town. There's kind of a long explanation to how I got in to that, but its not that important. One nice thing about Homer is that because it's such a transient place, they waive non-resident tuition fees.

At any rate, a poem I read for that class was the source of inspiration for this.

Poetry Was Like This

Poetry was a trail of footsteps along brick pathways

feet intentionally seeking out the crispy fallen leaves

to crunch and scatter.

It was trudging to class as the dawn was just breaking,

warm air exiting my mouth in a cloud of condensation

and my books clasped tightly to my chest,

as if I could learn by osmosis all those chapters I hadn’t read for lecture.

 

Poetry was the jolt of unexpected eye contact

across the room when I made a comment that sparked your highly particular intellect.

Poetry was every evening that I, alone, mindlessly completed problem sets,

            pencil stains along the side of my hand

                        eraser rubbings strewn across my desk,

all while my consciousness had taken off in the night to your apartment,

where you, alone, poured over syntax and imagery

            and I wished I was as creative as you were.

 

Poetry was a girl seeking reality in her fairytale,

who worked so hard to comprehend the mountains and the sky,

when the universe refused to be boxed up by chemical equations

and her handle of vocabulary lacked the phrases able to encapsulate the earth.

Poetry was longing for the esoteric,

            and the beauty of enigma,

because understanding is not a prerequisite for love.