I’ve been in a brooding mood lately, which generally evokes in me a desire to read and write poetry. I couldn’t tell you exactly what I’ve been brooding ABOUT – life and the future and ineffability and fate and free will and wishes on stars, I guess.
Regardless, I’ve been reading poetry. I like certain poems quite a bit. The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Tennyson, The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes, Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe, and Shakespeare’s Sonnets 116 and 130, to name a few. I must admit to a rather eclectic taste in poetry. Recently I’ve been reading John Keats, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson and Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Some are better than others. Let me know what poets you’ve been reading lately, I’m always interested in new material.
I always read a poem at least twice, because that’s how you really start to understand it. Then I think about it for a while, then read my favorite parts again. Sometimes I read it aloud, as well, because then you really hear the cadence and rhythm of the poem.
Since it’s been so hot outside lately (Hey, it’s Texas in June, what do you expect?) I thought I’d post here a poem I wrote this past winter, when there was cold weather (well, cold for Texas). I wrote about how I think winter can be beautiful, and I think people can appreciate it much better now that it’s summer.
I don’t profess to be an excellent poet, by any means. But I enjoy writing, and that’s good enough for me.
Winter – the dreary season,
where everything is dead
Winter is the shunned season
the scorned season, much maligned
But to me Winter is the beautiful season
the refreshing and compelling season
where so much is alive
Winter’s biting cold
wraps me in a loving embrace
Winter’s bitter wind
gently caresses my skin
Each unique snowflake
floats cheerfully to join
its brethren, in a magnificent
landscape of bright white fluff
What’s more alive
than an evergreen,
tall and strong
shaking softly from side to side
A splash of color
in a sea of white