I have been fortunate enough to have some extremely positive experiences with poetry, leaving a lasting impression that I still carry with me today. Now whenever I think of this important extension of creative writing, I undergo the echoes of those childhood memories, transporting me to a period of Earl Grey tea and toast with butter and jam. Gathered like a flock of partridge, jammed like a pack of sardines, my siblings and I would nestle peacefully around our mother as she read from our poetry compilations at breakfast.
During those moments, wrapped in that nascent cocoon of familiarity and essential warmth, I felt my own individual sun brighten. For the first time the sky came closer, but didn’t fall. I was equipped with the inspiration to write my own rambling limericks, haikus and more. Like a bear in winter, I dreamed my way through the writing of great figures of literature like Shakespeare, Blake and Dr. Seuss. Floating up within my thoughts, I found a solace within the power of words, a place and identity that I could truly call my own.
Like most kids, I nagged a lot. “The Tiger” drove me and my brother and sister into fits. We hated that poem so much; I suppose its old timey language alienated us. And yet, perhaps through some outside intervention, this exposure to poetry yielded a positive change within us. We had a vast range of diction for kids our age, an equally vast imagination and endless literary aspirations. My sister finished her first hundred page book when she was ten. My brother and I also attempted (and failed) to complete such an accomplished saga.
However, while I might not be able to write a full novel, because of this poetic exposure I now have a passion for poetry as not only a form of writing but as a part of human expression. I have won online poetry competitions for my work, and I know I have my old poet friends to thank for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment