I have had a line of Emily Dickinson stuck in my head for two days. Every time I stop thinking about something else, it scrolls through my mind. I don't know why. I like the poem, and we've been studying my genius alter-ego in this semester's American Lit class, but why this one phrase?
It's just a poem, right? Does it mean something? Should it?
I thought that maybe using it in my daily poem, it would go away. Some artistic cavern opened up by my poetry expirement perhaps? But nope, it's still there, pounding out a message to every beat of my song - my heart - my feet on the pavement [see? even the dashes are dickinson's].
It's been one week and I'm starting to get the hang of this poetry thing. I even now have hope of one day referring to myself as a poet. Not a fifteen-year-old-myspace poet, but a real, life, thoughtful, dedicated, i-make-this-look-easy-but-it-took-me-three-months, this-is-my-artistic-philosophy kind of poet.
Day Eight pays homage to some of my favorite poets, poems, and my new metaphor for life.
i walk in conversation
a fairer house than most -
eating peaches - on beaches
and stopping to notice details
like a spider, or a star.
the path tears across an old brick wall
towards the end of town, i dream
of london - paris - cairo - rome.
and then we'll run, you and i
spread out against the sky
like cold turkey (with swiss)
and tomato - on rye.
Major stars if you can name all of the references. Until then...
It's just a poem, right? Does it mean something? Should it?
I thought that maybe using it in my daily poem, it would go away. Some artistic cavern opened up by my poetry expirement perhaps? But nope, it's still there, pounding out a message to every beat of my song - my heart - my feet on the pavement [see? even the dashes are dickinson's].
It's been one week and I'm starting to get the hang of this poetry thing. I even now have hope of one day referring to myself as a poet. Not a fifteen-year-old-myspace poet, but a real, life, thoughtful, dedicated, i-make-this-look-easy-but-it-took-me-three-months, this-is-my-artistic-philosophy kind of poet.
Day Eight pays homage to some of my favorite poets, poems, and my new metaphor for life.
i walk in conversation
a fairer house than most -
eating peaches - on beaches
and stopping to notice details
like a spider, or a star.
the path tears across an old brick wall
towards the end of town, i dream
of london - paris - cairo - rome.
and then we'll run, you and i
spread out against the sky
like cold turkey (with swiss)
and tomato - on rye.
Major stars if you can name all of the references. Until then...
I dwell in possibility, a fairer house than prose... 
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