Is Poetry Scary?

Skip Enge

Active Member
#1
I write a lot of poetry. Started to in earnest at onset of an impending divorce after 37 years...needed something more than painting to do...any way I have about 100 I have written in the last year or so...
Wrote this one yesterday once I realized what the date was...

Cusp

Here it is,
The cusp,
The dawning
Of change.

The Mayan sun
Lighting
Present
And past…

Here we are
On that
Unknown cusp
Of prophecy.

Our transition
Has come
And work
Has begun

Let us
Look with
Hope and
Peaceful transition

As calendars
Unfold
To evils
Remission.
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#2
The Gallery

Art is life
It seems
To me

Lines drawn
For all to see

Memories are dear
But is experience
Really clear?

Our palettes
Are created
In time

From works
That rhyme.


Our canvas
primed at birth
To be receptive
To the hues
And our worth


In the gallery
Of our living
We measure
Our lifes work
With our giving


In retrospect
We collect Images
And memories unfold
To great richness
Of stories told


We express
With our eyes,
With our hands
through words
For all to behold

Creative minds
Whose heartfelt
Ambition
Sees the gallery
Open before them.
Through
Their own volition


Now is the time
To meet and greet
And live and create
What we need
To repeat.

Welcome
To the gallery
And the work
People should see.
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#3
Jealosy

We covet
Beyond attraction
Find reasons
For interaction

Yet when time
Avails no true words
Nothing good
Can be heard

Why is that?
My once true friend
Are we so stubborn
We just pretend?

We covet memory
And yet reject

In lifes pageant
We know not
What to expect…
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#4
The Mirror


The loon cries
With echoes
Of loss…

Mute mist

Heaven kissed
I see it

Soft pillows
Reflection
Silent billows
Refraction

The rustle
Of sedge
Grass on
Mirrors edge

Lapping against
The hull
A shell of man
The sheen is gone


The loon cries

With echoes
Of loss


Observe
In awe
With conscience
We saw

The loon cries

With echoes
Of loss

Mournful
Silent billows
Reflection
Love lost.

 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#5
For James(wrote it for a friend going through a rough time)

Fall is coming
Late Crocus blooming
The air cooler
The color crisper

The ebb and flow
Life moves on
Tides of persistence
A breeze of acceptance

Fall is coming
Light quelled
By dimming
Daylight

But comfort
Ever present

Seems to say
Envelop me

We live life
On the wire
And should yield
To the inspired

Because when
Fall comes

Gathering hope
We should relish

All that helps
Us cope
Friends, love

And the beauty
The memories
Of what we know.

Fall is coming

By dimming daylight

The ebb and flow
Life moves on
Tides of persistence
A breeze of acceptance…

A sort of tranquility
 

GAT

Dumbfounded
#6
Poetry certainly isn't scary but it has fallen from grace. At one time, it was very popular but I can't say that is still the case. The interest has simply faded away.
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#7
Halo

The shape
The outline
That surrounds
the intent.

An aura
Of energy
An echo
Of what
Was meant

We stamp
An approval
And seal
The imprint.

Collecting
And defining
A ghost
Of repent.

This hallowed
Thought
Undefined
Yet bought.

What does
This ideal
Trade in
Thought?

We take
Shape and
Recycle

Unique.

Wondering,
In conclusion,
If it is
What the
Heart seeks?
 
#8
Enjoyed the poems! Thanks.

Is poetry scary? As a mirror, it can be. Yet, as it is a natural propensity of our species to use poetry to evoke, for whatever reason we need to evoke/express through any of the arts, I suppose we can only define it as necessity. I've seen scary paintings, films, & read scary prose, but that doesn't mean the form is scary.

Tiny brown mite
Your hackles catch
The falling sun
What secret do you hold?
I lift the rod &
Cast you to the dazzling void
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#10
some of mine are self searching...

Shell

I talk,
I hear,
All echoe.

What is
With that
He said?

Some call
And response
To the psyche?

Some irrelevant
Buoying self
Indulgence?

Or perhaps
A shout out
Seeing if
Someone listens?

This shell
Of self
Demands
Acceptance.

What is
With that
He said?
 
#11
Affirmations doing real work for the poet. Why people will never quit writing poetry. Some will read. But it doesn't matter. Nice to have a wall to hang stuff on. Today's haiku:

ambiguous spate
leafless, supplicant alders
rain darkens the stones
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#12
Affirmations doing real work for the poet. Why people will never quit writing poetry. Some will read. But it doesn't matter. Nice to have a wall to hang stuff on. Today's haiku:

ambiguous spate
leafless, supplicant alders
rain darkens the stones
very nice...rain darkens the stones...
 

Skip Enge

Active Member
#14
North Country
Greener than green
Rolling forest
Awe inspiring fertile
Trees that go on…

Forever evergreen

Wild yet managed
Can we tell?

Stories of the woods?

The woods…
If we imagine

Camp two
Camp three

A resource boundless
That we could see.

Well we know
It’s a product

That is becoming
Rarer by the day.

Forever evergreen
Wild yet managed
Can we tell
Stories of the woods?