This is a poem about spring.
Do not tell me it is about
my life and fresh new beginnings.
Do not imagine people when
I say trees.
When I say fall will come,
I do not mean doom
or darkness
or old age,
I just mean fall.
The leaf blowing on the pathway
is not a symbol of fleeting life.
The deadness of the earth
is not the sorrow of my soul.
When I say rain,
I mean water from the sky.
When I say umbrella,
I mean shield from the rain.
When I write a poem,
do not tell me what I mean by it
and do not look for meanings that are not there.
Read it as you wish, but do not think
That my fly means death,
or my mirror reflects into my heart.
Neither think of my poem as my life.
Just read it and enjoy.
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Hah, great little poem. But if I may – I used to hate analysing literature, but if you look at it, it’s not what the poet writes but what is understood. Could be the same thing, but maybe not.
In my opinion. =D
Well done indeed! Your expressive use of phrase and declaration here and the simple beauty of your words defines your poem. ON the one hand the poem may look to be a bold, courageous, “cocking-a-snook” action, so to say, at convention. On the other hand it can be seen for what it may, alternatively, intend to be – a clever and expressive creation in free verse that strides out with vigor and honesty, freshness and charm.
Excellent! :)
Best wishes,
John
Writer & Poet
I think you place too many restrictions “On Poetry”.
For many people it cannot be enjoyed if they can’t wax poetic.
Folks like to wax poetic “On Poetry”.
Maybe if you make it hot enough the wax will melt when it hits.
It is the best you can hope for :) .
Nice! You bring back my university creative writing days :)
A Poem of its Own
A poem about poems,
There’s a poem in that.
In the thought, in the words,
In the rhyme, in the act.
There’s a seed from which springs
The heart of the poem,
Which seed, in itself,
Is a poem of its own.
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Did a little digging through the archives :)
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