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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459512" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love and Poetry; Poetry and Love</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">and right now, I’m spending most of my time<br>on the two matters of which I seem to know the least –<br>love; and poetry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">maybe it’s good I feel like this; after all, <br>they’re two pretty big things in their way; <br>and if it’s frustrating that<br>I don’t seem to get anywhere, <br>or understand any more, <br>maybe that’s good too since<br>it keeps me at it<br>and out of harm’s way<br>as they say</div><div style="margin:10px 0">let’s take poetry first – that’s<br>relatively straightforward: <br>one day I love the freedom<br>of the current situation – there’s no rules<br>except, the lines are short –<br>but even that, you can break<br>with ‘prose poems’ (and leave it<br>to others to say when 'prose poems'<br>become ‘poetic prose’ etc…) : <br>tell the unvarnished truth, <br>tell it like it is; offer all your heart<br>ungiftwrapped; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">then next day I miss the music<br>of a poem that – with some difficulty –<br>rhymes and dances in its rhythms, <br>catches you in its woven spell, <br>reads as if it wrote itself, <br>sings its own fair song, <br>even though of course<br>the rhyme then makes you deviate<br>from the theme – but that can take you to<br>more interesting places in the mind —</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so - point of this - I’m none the wiser<br>about what poetry is; though of course<br>maybe there’s some benefit I just don’t spot<br>by kinda mixing thisnthat..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">so, when I’m not writing this stuff<br>that I call poetry, if I call it anything, <br>I’m addressing the question<br>of love; in the hope<br>that thinking about it might just be<br>of some use; influence action; and<br>make me more loving; or help me<br>write poetry about it, ha..<br>well don’t ask me, not just yet..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">though, we all know what love is... <br>when it’s on our side? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">one day, I feel good that I’ve spent the day<br>reading inspiring words, like, <br>the whole Creation is one single act<br>of love; that it brought the whole universe<br>into manifestation; sustains it; merges all things into love; <br>that love is knowledge; holds all forms<br>through law, by law; that law and love<br>are always together; that love’s<br>the natural state of ourself; that<br>every creature has pure love within its nature; <br>that thus, it’s our very nature<br>to love one another; love<br>our neighbour as ourself…<br>even, love ourselves...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">then the next day, I can’t bear<br>to read any more of what’s written<br>about love; just spend the day in love<br>with everything and everyone; <br>being still a little, listening to music a little, <br>reading inspiring poetry a little, <br>going out or not going out, <br>being just myself a lot; seeing things around<br>inside the house and out<br>so vividly, it’s like being high<br>without the before and after, and<br>I wonder why it isn’t<br>always just like this..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">then the next day again, I’m just too busy<br>to give thought to thinking about love, <br>or being loving to those bloody neighbours</div><div style="margin:10px 0">then the doorbell rings – and <br>I greet whoever it is before<br>I even look at them, as if<br>they’re the one person out of all the world<br>I most wanted to see again right now – and</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it’s someone to read the meter –'hallo! <br>what, again so soon? I’ve only just paid<br>the last bill, and anyway, it always comes<br>as ‘estimated’, and too high…'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">too late – I’ve loved them totally<br>in that first moment; I'm like<br>someone else; I find myself<br>treating them like an honoured guest; <br>see them out with a friendly comment; feel good; <br>a sorta indifferent, unthought, unshaped happiness..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">maybe there’s something to be discovered<br>in all this love thing, <br>whatever it is.. maybe<br>I’ll go try to write a poem about it, <br>see where it goes</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> <br>[This poem is dedicated to the memory of Bukowski, the poet<br>who taught us to write it like it is - even if his later work...]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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on the two matters of which I seem to know the least –
love; and poetry.

maybe it’s good I feel like this; after all, 
they’re two pretty big things in their way; 
and if it’s frustrating that..."></div>
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