So I'm taking a class this semester that has forced me to branch out into poetry and non-fiction. Initially, I was a bit nervous because prose is my forte; it's what I'm used to. But I have to admit that I'm starting to like writing poetry. Non-fiction on the hand is not my style at all ("What do you mean I can't make shit up?").
I used to dislike poetry because I didn't understand it and I always thought it was too artsy. As in, "What does that phrase mean?" and "Why does that sentence stop right in the middle?" But I've come to like the experimental-ness of it and how it's such a great outlet for emotion and thought. I guess I can see why angsty teenagers like to use it as their medium! Ha!
I'm registering for classes next week and hopefully I'll be taking a class called Poetry for Craft in the spring. Never thought I'd be taking a poetry class, but here we are. I'll let you know if I start to hate it and want to gouge my eyes out with a pencil.
Anyway, the theme a few weeks ago was the written word. I hope you like it!
In case you're entirely confused, this poem is about a young girl in a library searching for the perfect book. What do you think?
In aisles of dusty volumes she meandered,
Her fingers lingering on the old spines,
Looking for something to enchant her
So she could break it out of its confines.
These dog-eared pages were her family
And knew her better than the living
For they made her mind drift happily
To far-off places she was missing.
And there half hidden on the bookshelf,
She almost passed it by:
A book that reminded her of herself,
Curly lettering and blue as the sky.
Though time was swiftly running out
And soon the doors would close,
She took a seat without a doubt
And turned to the first page of prose.
The words seemed to glow in the dark
And the story awoke before her eyes,
But too soon it was time to embark
For staying any longer would be unwise.
To further unlock this marvelous creation
She ran with her library card in hand,
And smiled when she was given permission
To return to that printed land.