When most people think about poetry they have flashbacks to their high school English classes. You remember trying to decipher lines of nonsense written by some dead guy or gal who can’t possibly understand what you were going through at that moment. These dead poets seem to drone on and on about leaves of grass (Ha… Ha) and the weight of feathers. I mean what in the world were they talking about? I’ll tell you… life. They were talking about everyday life and the trials and tribulations that come with being a human who has emotions.
Growing up, I really got into poetry. Let’s just say that I had a lot of feelings. Like a lot. My mom majored in English, and later went on to teach it, so she was always there to help me figure out what a poet was saying in their prose when I became too confused. For the most part I thoroughly enjoyed reading poetry. The similes and metaphors enticed me. The long ballads made my heart swell. Iambic Pentameter gave me rhythm. I had no rhythm prior. Ask my family. I could spend hours collecting poems like tattoos. These poets were able to put into words the rambling thoughts and feelings that usually stayed jumbled inside of me.
A few of my favorite poets include Emily Dickinson, Edgar Lee Masters, Billy Collins, Mary Oliver, Silvia Plath, E.E. Cummings, Shakespeare, Alfred Lord Tenyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and T.S. Eliot
Do you like poetry? or is it a chore to read? Let me know down in the comments. I implore you to try poetry again if its not something that comes easily to you. Just focus on the beat of words, the way the lines flow together, and how the poem makes you feel. Don’t try and find the hidden meaning as soon as possible. Just feel.
I hope you guys are having a lovely day.