The Magic Of Poetry.

A bit of spring cleaning done over the last week, in view of the coming festive seasons, turned up something unexpected. Lying inside an old, dusty and out-of-shape box in my store room was a scrapbook containing poems which I had written a lifetime ago, when I was a boy.

Looking through them brought back memories of a time long gone. The places and neighbourhoods that I grew up in - changed beyond recognition by modernisation, and the childhood friends that, for one reason or another, have drifted apart and lost contact with. It reminded me of what it was like to be a child - innocent, naive, full of hope and optimism and also, the regret of passing into adulthood. How I missed those simple childhood days!

Days spent flying kites and playing marbles, hunting for fighting spiders, catching fish and grasshoppers and the wonder of puppy love for the girl with the twin pleated long hair. So, what is it about poetry that, through a few simple sentences, is able to evoke such feelings?

Poetry, meaning "I create" in ancient Greek, is a human language art form and is a powerful way of expressing feelings and ideas. Like art, the beauty and magic of poetry lies in the eye of the beholder and is subjected to different interpretations. It is intangible, an act of self-discovery and defines deep feelings and emotions. It is intense, captures distilled perceptions and is personal and unique to its author.

Poetry has the ability to take us on a journey, to places we have never been before. It is everywhere - in nature, in the moment we look into the eyes of those we love, in the depth of one's soul, in our memories and in the flashes of our childhood.

Poetry is there for you to contemplate - "It is as it is."

Mother
Once,
my tears
were dried
by you
but no
longer.

Once,
i loved you
but no
more.

Yet,
my mind
is full
of you.

Not,
as a
mother
but a
long lost
friend.
- My Den (circa1971)

Emptiness
Night time is overtaking me
as daylight falls behind.
My life is slowly losing
the sparkle and shine.

A life filled with promises
and empty bottles of wine.
This loneliness is beginning to

encloak me,
I've lost all sense of time.

Self-pity overwhelms me,
I've begun to lose my mind.
While death is overtaking me
and daylight falls behind.
- My Den (circa 1976)

"A poem begins with a lump in the throat, a home-sickness or a love-sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where the emotion has found its thought and the thought has found the words." - American poet Robert Frost

*For more poetry of startling originality :
- The Eye Of A Poet by Billy Collins
- Each Happiness Ringed By Lions by Jane Hirshfield
- View With A Grain Of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska
- The Best Poems Of The English Language by Harold Bloom

*Related post : The Joy Of Writing.