Poetically Speaking, What is Poetry for me?

Again, something I’d written long time back, in 1990, to be precise. All criticisms welcome!

What do I write about?
The mountains, lakes, skies;
Or birds, flowers, and the like?

Here I am, amongst my daily troubles,
Wanting some peace of mind
Thought I would write a poem
But what do I write about?

I wonder what poets possess
That makes them poets
I wonder how their creativity
Is created…

How mischievous language is!
It completely describes an entity
As complex and vague as the poetic mind
By simply calling it poetic!

Is poetry born out of
Joy, Grief, and other such
Intense emotions only?
Or can this be called a poem
If I consider it to be?

I now suspect
That it needs great concentration
For a poet
To write a poem

And further
That there is a superior logic
Behind the rhythmic passages
Of a poem

Poetry is a means for the poet
To let his imagination
And romanticism
Run wild

If we invent norms
Regarding what constitutes a poem
Would it be a restriction
Which may destroy what it’s trying to preserve?

For some, a poem is simply
A rhythmic, lucid passage
Why can’t prose
Not possessing lucidity of words
But of thought
Be called a poem?

I can better appreciate rhythm and lucidity
In ideas
Than in words

How I wish I could write a poem
Of my many enchanting thoughts
Without suffering from the curse
Of being compelled to use language
Whose words do not always rhyme…

I am now catching a glimpse
Of the poetry
That is in the world
For me

How wonderful is the fact
That I am conscious
Of myself!
Am I not the poetry of Nature?

But then I wonder
Who is the poet of Nature?
Which itself is sheer poetry?
Does poetry require a poet?

Which leads me to think
Does a poet ever create poetry?
Or does he simply catch
The already existing poetry
In words?

Finally, what is poetry?
Which, I think
Everybody should decide for oneself
If they can

For me
The lucidity of ideas in a poetic work
Transcends the superficial rhythm
Of its words

I think the best example
Of what I intend to say
Is best exemplified
In this work itself
Which has been a poetry for me

The lucidity of thoughts
And the logic of the thinking mind
Combined with the flavor of romanticism
Surpassed the absence of rhyme
To create this poem?

PS: This just goes to prove that I’m not a poet by nature, irrespective of my amatuerish attempts


6 thoughts on “Poetically Speaking, What is Poetry for me?

  1. Friend, there are poets,
    Then there are poets!
    Few, like you, speak of their minds,
    Some, like me, talk out of their hinds.
    Whether or not you need rhyme,
    ‘s something which needs some time
    To teach us this life-lesson,
    That we need not rhyme, but reason.

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