“A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits.” – Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love.
I don’t write a lot of poetry.
That might be cultural. I grew up in the deep south in a time when poetry was not encouraged.
There is also this: Speaking strictly for myself, I think poetry can be abused, a sort of a sound bite to circumvent critical thinking, especially where complex issues are in play. (see “lock her up!”). This over-simplification can drive a lot of destruction.
But on the other hand, a good poem can freeze a moment in time or paint an epiphany. That last analogy probably isn’t a good choice for me. I’m more a minimalist sketcher than a painter.
Professionally speaking there is zero money in poetry. So on the rare occasion my muse busts a poem out, it is coming from the heart.
So here is a sprinkling:
Shoals: Pain and limits
The Story of You: A Frustrating, Passive Suicide
Sea Change: My Favorite
Watauga Branch: A true Story
Please feel free to post comments, or if it’s more personal, You can email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org