Poetry at Noon
I almost didn’t go, had too many papers on my desk to feel right about leaving them behind, but my friend Michele Wolf was reading from her new book Immersion so I walked 20 minutes to a building made of words, took a seat and let the images flow into my brain.
It was a good decision. The verse filled me full as any food. They were love poems — love for children, for parents, for spouse — and they trembled and soared; they skittered to the edge of the abyss, stood still and stared it down.
On the way home, my path was filled with light. All the buildings had softened edges.
3 thoughts on “Poetry at Noon”
I was never a huge poetry fan, but since I've been in the high school here, I've championed the Poetry Out Loud Recitation Contest. I never tire of how excited the kids get– kids who would never be caught dead in front of their peers, opening themselves up to recite a poem that spoke to them. Their vulnerability is endearing, and the experience has been life changing for most of them.
Whenever I see a poem, I pause
"I should read this," I say.
Sigh.
Too hard. Too slow. Takes work.
Flip.
Back to the prose.
A sense of unease
I've missed something, but what?
Anon– I think you ARE a poet.