Poetry is a kind
Out of the soul.
Over tea, I jotted down some notes on what poetry means to me. I wouldn’t say that these are meant to constitute some kind of manifesto or should be seen as a commentary to the poem above or other musings on this blog. Poetry is much too dynamic to be reduced to this or that. Poetry, I guess, is whatever you make it out to be.
Notes on Poetry
Poems are windows on the world.
Poems are thoughts given animation.
Poems are the body’s desires enshrined.
Poems are bubbles of buoyancy.
Poems are lifebelts giving protection on the overflowing avenues of life.
Poems are boots helping us up the mountain.
Poems are slides, plumbing the depths of the imagination.
Poems are intoxicating.
Poems are memories.
Poems are eternal.
Poems are of the moment.
Poems dance when the mind is alive.
Poems are for everyone.
Poems don’t grow old.
Poems are sustenance for the soul.
Poems are longings consecrated on the mind’s altar.
Poems are the heart’s yearnings unfurled.
Poetry is music.
Poetry is water.