The Road to Poetry

April is National Poetry Month, and the League of Canadian Poets has declared the theme for 2016 as The Road”  —  a subject that couldn’t be closer to my own heart. Existing and emerging poets are urged to explore the roads that brought us here, and the roads most important to our literary journey; Even more, we want to know about the roads in your future, in our future, in the future of poetry in Canada.”


My journey shown on a road map looks a bit like this: 14 months ago I dusted off my long-abandoned love for creative writing and started taking it for a spin. The path led to a re-kindled love of poetry. So here I am, 35 years old, writing poetry with the same affection I did when I was a teenager and not surprisingly, much of the inner landscape remains the same.

I’m an amateur, there’s no doubt, but I’m wise enough to know that poetry doesn’t need to be judged on whether it’s good or bad —  it is what it is. The point is that it is up there on the list of the greatest comforts and pleasures in my life. I’m sure most poets would agree.

When reading poetry our minds tend to defer judgement of good, bad or successful. Try to think of it instead as the poet handing you a telescope pointed in a direction of a secret paradigm and saying: “Here;  look through this”. If you care to open yourself up to it, the telescope can provoke all five (or six, depending on who you are) senses through its literary devices.

National Poetry Month is a great motivation to get your poetic juices flowing, to find support and community and to celebrate.

Here are a few random shares of my own poetry: The first is an Etheree poem (ten lines of unmetered and unrhymed verse, the first line having one syllable, each succeeding line adding a syllable, with the total syllable count being fifty-five), the second is a free verse, and the third is a custom rhythmic poem.

Silent Screams 
Toes losing grip
Bend, pull, bliss, sweat drips
In my blue eyes burning
Mirror reflection shows flaws
Righteous steadfastness perseveres
The sweet smell of flesh pressed to my mat
Commit to pose and welcome the divine.

The Storytellers
Blue sky, cracked paths
jumbled, blue jays limping
swallowing them up
feather by feather
drop to the drums of hell
birds fry in balled-up spinning
turning into gold
from those nuggets spawn
The Storytellers
wide limbs, shining skin, three eyes
granting lives, twirling fate
and giving brothers and sisters
or none at all
at life’s final breath
they turn us to jays
launching high into heavens
or falling

We are prisoners chained in this cave
Knowing nothing of reality
And knowing nothing of any science
The only sound that bounce off these walls
are the echoes of compliance

From the firelight here to the sunlight there

Puppet showman have screens
to cast imperfect copies
of perfect things
it would sting my eyes if I was to see
something truer than what has
been shown to me

Drag my body out into the light
Eyes wince beyond the divided line
Running casts a million dark shadows
Compelled to make it up to the sun
Through the ice tundra and meadows

When I return blind to set you free
You will cast me away and stay chained
Groping your faint sights on my third eye
For I have seen the sun and the moon
Both together in the same sky

From the sunlight here to the firelight there

Puppet showman have screens,
to cast imperfect copies
of perfect things,
it would sting my eyes if I was to see,
something truer than what has
been shown to me

I look forward to dedicating some time this month to the theme of “The Road” and perhaps composing a sonnet or two, and making some tracks in the future of Canadian poetry. Catch up again in a few weeks! 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s