From whence all verse was born:

5 Comments

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  • Dark Poetry
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  • Humor
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  • Truth
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  • Inspiration

    Poem Commentary

    I wondered how to describe that desire to write poetry, how did you put into words that burning need to write? I found the more I wrote the more I came to realise: You simply can't.

    From whence all verse was born:

    What is that secret compulsion?

    That coveted, forbidden expression,

    The fire, the passion, the lightning,

    Bound by humble flesh. The spark,

    The light, the icy desire, the night,

    The day, the untold mysteries?

     

    The smile that steals, the sorrow

    From your heart. The flush of energy,

    The want, need and drive, that takes

    You to the edge,

    Follows you into sleep,

    And sings a lullaby to the doubt.

     

    It is the dreams of cobbled paths,

    The songs of yesterday,

    Renewed and remembered afresh,

    The taste of midnight before dusk,

    The dance of heaven on earth.

     

    Inspiration,

    To whom I am indebted,

    For leading me astray, my

    Inner self, secret self,

    Aided and abetted.

     

    To whom I am a humble breath,

    A’ standin’ in the shade

    Of the new born sun,

    To dream my days away.

    Poem Comments

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    Helios commented on From whence all verse was born:

    07-14-2010

    Aesthetics is a hard topic to describe because beauty seems to be a God given gift. The feeling of inspiration; however, brings a poet closer to beauty that he can only see in dreams. Poetry is beyond our understanding sometimes... but its so simple too. Excellent poem Narrator
    Reply to Comment

    Narrator

    07/15/2010

    Thank you very much Helios. I agree completely, who can describe the root of all verse, who can depict, with humble vocabulary the grace of inspiration of the image in a poets eye as he tries to paint it for all to see. Narrator.

    stellar commented on From whence all verse was born:

    07-14-2010

    What a pleasure to the mind reading this piece...you articulately penned down that feeling of inspiration when poet writes his poem...love it...
    Reply to Comment

    Narrator

    08/05/2010

    Thank you very much for your kind words, poetry truly is a mystery, it is consuming and simultaneously elusive...

    DeepEclipse commented on From whence all verse was born:

    07-08-2010

    Ah you opened up that first stanza with perfect expression. I like how it quickly jumps to different descriptions. It truly shows how hard it is to describe the passion of poetry. Just reading this makes me want to write :) [And sings a lullaby to the doubt.] - Beautiful line. Put a visual in my head of a faceless melodic spirit serenading an emotion. Excellent poem. I love how beyond us poetry is.
    Reply to Comment

    Narrator

    08/05/2010

    Thank you so very much! Truly poetry, particularly its origins are impossible to understand.

    dahlusion commented on From whence all verse was born:

    07-06-2010

    this is lovely and truthful. i write because i can't stop, i simply can not stop, can' stop writing i simply cannot stop writing......i can't...
    Reply to Comment

    Narrator

    07/06/2010

    Thank you Dah! I know the feeling, poetry is soul consuming, a force to which, all who are inspired are fated to submit.

    Tigcateyes commented on From whence all verse was born:

    07-06-2010

    Love it! Thank you for writing this and sharing it. It sure is true. I have been asked many times where my poetry comes from and what prompts me to write, and I have always had great difficulty trying to explain it. This was a fun and easy poem to read. Great work, keep it up.
    Reply to Comment

    Narrator

    07/06/2010

    Thank you for reading! I know what you mean, the work of half an hour could not be explained in a life time where poetry is concerned. I hoped it would be, I think inspired poetry should be thought provoking, but this, as an attempt at explanation, was only ever meant to be an humble expression. Thank you again for you kind review!

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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