Thoughts on Poetry

Honestly, after last Wednesday, I can’t say I know what poetry is. For me poetry is a series of words strung together in some form or another, which usually mean something to either the poet or the reader, or both. Also, said words should be creative and original. At least I think that is what poetry should be like. Some people think advertisements are poetic, others think only poets like Poe and Shakespeare knew what they were doing. Frankly, I think the concept of poetry is rather fluid and I wish it didn’t always have a “snooty” connotation to it. Actually, I wish I could just understand what some poets are trying to convey in their poems. Poets have all the creative freedom in the world and still I feel like I am reading the same confusion.
I feel writing has the capability of accomplishing most anything, this includes poetry. Beautiful images of being by the sea, what it is to be in love, endless metaphors and similes showing and creating emotions are a big success in poetry. Poetry has done well with being secretive and confusing as well. Poetry isn’t always my favorite thing to read simply because it is capable of so much, but often I don’t even know what I am reading. Poetry also isn’t easy. Actually, that is an understatement. Poetry is really complicated and sometime annoying. I do like poetry but I like to keep it simple.
Simple or not, poetry often has value and meaning to the poet and the reader. Its meaning is often insight into love, life, woes and other such topics pertaining to life and its surroundings. With that said, I still don’t know what poetry means. Does poetry simply mean that the author couldn’t write a story or a novel? Does poetry mean that we are a little shallow because we don’t pay attention to it? Who really knows what poetry means? All I know is that poetry is tricky but sometimes worth reading.

A Story About a Most Unfortunate Animal Named Pepper

Pepper was a skunk who ran away from his adopted family of possums. He ran away because his adopted dad used to hit him and blame him, instead of his punk possums kids. Pepper was a sweet skunk but rarely smelled like one since his vulgar older brothers scared him on a daily basis. It was no wonder he left: constant beatings and practical jokes at his expense wasn’t how he wanted to spend his youth.

Pepper had lost his mother to a truck driver speeding down his old pond view drive. His dad died a year earlier from spraying the wrong Texan on his ranch. Losing his mother and then living with ugly possums was more than he could bear.

Upon his first day of being an official runaway, he came across a Baptist Church. The minister found him sitting in the shade among the steps and the minister lifted his left boot and gave him a righteous kick to the curb. Pepper had only wanted shade but the minister only cared about what he was, not who he was. It was there Pepper decided to make his pilgrimage back home.

But rejection was all Pepper saw along the way home. Each time he sought refuge among a church, ministers and priest would throw Bibles and burning candles at him. Was it so much to ask to sit in the shade and talk it out with Jesus? It was tough being a skunk in the Bible belt of Texas.

Finally, Pepper made it back to where his furrow had been, but there wasn’t anything left of his home. After crying for endless hours, Pepper was spotted by Animal Control. Poor Pepper had never made any moral mistakes or poor judgments. He simply was always in the wrong place at the wrong time and truly down on his luck. It was there at the empty furrow he made peace with the life he was given and the death he didn’t choose. At least he would see his true parents again.

Why I read what I read...

When I was younger I believed in the tooth fairy. I thought that the tooth fairy was capable of more than just taking my tooth for a good price. I figured that I could bargain with this woman and so I did. Instead of giving me money, I would leave her a polite note asking for a book. So when I woke up, the “tooth fairy” would have a book for me. Alice in Wonderland was one of my first books given to me and to this day, I still love the story of Alice falling into a wonderland.
I am a slower reader. I’m not saying it takes me four hours to get through one chapter, but I am in between a medium and slow pace of reading. I used to be in advanced reading classes as a kid, but somewhere along the way I got too lazy or leisurely with reading. But I figure that I still read for pleasure and at least I am reading. Anyhow, I read because it took me away into places, magical lands and the wonders of Disney. You could say I was hooked in at a young age.
For a period of time, I was reading to escape. I liked that there were characters in all these different books that I related to. They understood me. Such as Margaret from Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume. Call me cliché, but I loved that book. There was also this book I read when my parents were getting divorced that I adored titled P.S. Longer Letter Later. Those two books got me through my awkward stages of youth.
But mostly, I read because I love stories. I like reading them, telling them and being apart of them. It doesn’t matter what kind of story; truthfully, I don’t have a favorite genre (at least not yet). Reading is an adventure and often inspires ideas and adventures of my own. It’s just remarkable what books contribute to my life. I probably sound mildly psychotic but that happens when you are a freak for books. Or when you start our reading because the “tooth fairy” aided you in your quest for the written word…