Poetry has been around for a very long time. In fact, there has never been a civilization that did not possess it. And though its and ancient art, something about poetry remains fresh and new.
Like, when
the morning dew lying fresh on a meadow reaches into the old growth forest, so
poetry, while moving forward, looks back
and into the past, reflecting the human condition.
It can be
refined and elegant, but also raw and earthy. Poetry is studied and dissected
in the elite halls of academia and recited by children in grade school, while
skipping rope on the playground.
I am 52 years old and one day, when I grow up, I want to be a poet. A mincer of words whose verse captivates your heart, interrupts your life and speaks to your soul.
I am 52 years old and one day, when I grow up, I want to be a poet. A mincer of words whose verse captivates your heart, interrupts your life and speaks to your soul.
Robert Frost
pulled me in and I’ve never recovered. Since that time, there have been
others. Longfellow, Milosz, Hirsch and
Billy Collins to name a few. Yet, the 23rd
psalm was written over three thousand years ago and transcends them all.
Yes, when I
grow up, I want to be a poet. But, if before I make it they should lay me to
rest, please grant this wannabe one final request. Carve on my stone, “He Died
Trying."
www.camdockery.com
email:cam@camdockery.com
www.camdockery.com
email:cam@camdockery.com
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