Poetry is....

this….
Capturing the river in its meanderings, and each swirling currant caught on a snag beneath the surface, the sparkling jewels over the rapids, and the smooth river stones wet and rippled in mottled tones.
Its painting the clouds as they hit the peak of a mountain range and rush like smoke fireless down the other side, or sit low in valleys like a blanket sheltering temperate forests where the only sound is the small droplets of condensation rolling off one leaf onto another stepping down from lush canopies to marshy groves where vines form the solid land mass.
Poetry is melting sand as it falls through your fingers forming delicate glass cascades to be forever frozen in time transformed. Understanding what the gnarly old tree has withstood for over a thousand years against the elements of time, and how the rain now burns its roots. Its dancing with the gypsy behind her mysterious eyes weaving her wrists to the sun all tiny bells and delicate fingers splayed just so just right.
The tiny mouse foot prints from an ink well that was left out of an old Rembrandt master piece that hopped across one of his beloved books on philosophy blotting out the lines about inner light he searched for, but he loved his shadow so dearly in his loses. Unbolting each finger so as to send them away to be reconditioned to remedy writers block and stiff knuckles from that last nightmare where you drove your own nails thought the palms of your hands. Its counting each fragment as you attempt to glue together that china dinner plate that was thrown to the floor, and the feeling it left in your stomach at it smashed.
Poetry is walking naked on a warm summers day through empty fields and describing how a gentle breeze plays with your hair like soft feathers down your back and causes pleasant shivers over your whole being inside and out. The feel of soft green grass on bare feet. The courtship of the bowerbird and his obsession with the blues, and why his lady thinks him more attractive the bluer he is. Poetry is the whispered prayer from those who don’t pray, rituals of candles and neroli oil, Pettitgrain, pencil, paper and tear filled eyes. Poetry is hiding in plain view or begging to be heard or bleeding without blood and dieing without death as well as throwing open doors breaking windows opening chapters swooning openly lusting after life and love falling through pages like lead shot. It’s a child’s kiss goodnight and sleepy morning eyes. Pillars we build our selves to pink nebulous like magic dragons and galactic stars of old where weightless we drift in admiration for the endless expanse of imagination birthed in dreams and possibilities.
I don’t really write of any of these things, I am not a poet.

Reviews

[Sam Freeland]

You are a fine poet
with every word you show it
While we know less of your heart
You are a world apart
What we say in review
is the best we can do
Write every day
we will love all that too...I have learned by reading your work, as so many others have learned. sam

[Laura Maidah]

Nice hook! Comma splices: example in the last sentence. "Current" misspelled. "It's painting the..." with an apostrophe, right? I'm not sure what your intent is. Otherwise, this is exquisite. Just needs a bit of proofreading.

[Alicante lullaby]

YES,YOU ARE,you are a poet,,,,a very keen observer and your words,,,i wish i had them to atleast,try and capture a millionth of the majesty here,,,it was like breeze blowing in the plains of punjab,,,,like a distant rhapsody of flute played by a shepherd at the mountains of sarhad,,,,,the warmth of my lands and your cold,,,,so beautifully pictured,,,a poet's bleeding heart,,,his ishaq for words,,,,,sighs,,,

[Emily B]

poetry is so many things . . .poetry is sunshine and blue moons and love on quiet nights. You are one of the most poetic poets I know, Happy New Year to you . . .

[theludus]

I like the ghost of pauls' comment on this. Essentially I expected to be fully bored by this by about 5 lines in. No, not because of you, more-so because of the structure and theme these types of poems tend to have. But if you'll allow me to continue making generalizations [and really, you, in this moment, can do nothing to stop me] I think you have this ability to inform and entertain, that's not to say that this work is wild and fanciful, it isn't. It's sincere and wild, and wildly descriptive as a bus ride to a place you'd never been, as an army exercise in Malaysia where you saw monkeys and great big lizards, and every kind of insect you could hope to imagine. etc etc etc.

Do those kind of experiences flow? Do they stick with you? Hell yeah, they do. And this was that.

[the ghost of pauls]

Poetry is...Armada. That is all things I remember about your writing, full sensual rhythmic, wonderful sense of place and timing and phrasing, music really in words, gorgeous, hello, again,

[Eve]

I could not disagree more, you are a poet...a painter of visual images into words, the transfering of lifes mundane moments into rapture. I loved this peice, it reflects a love of life that is inspiring. :)

[Ruby Moon]

i just love this sentence
"Poetry is melting sand as it falls through your fingers forming delicate glass cascades to be forever frozen in time transformed. "

and this sentence is so true...
"Poetry is hiding in plain view or begging to be heard or bleeding without blood and dieing without death as well as throwing open doors breaking windows opening chapters swooning openly lusting after life and love falling through pages like lead shot. "

even if you didnt write a single line...i would say i love how you put them together and arranged them together
^.^

[Shadows of Sight]

You have captured it's essence! With such wonderful words and images and feelings! sigh... I must bow down to you! I wish i had that skill!

You are truly a master...where i am but an amature.. :)
Great Write!
I loved it so much you can't imagine!

[Amanda]

a very moving and insightful piece. the comparisons and the imagery are wonderful, you capture the thoughts of many and explain what they mean to you.

a wonderful and well written piece. i just love it.

Always,

Amanda

[Forest Green]

This was great...I'm coming back to read it again. You are a true analyitical poet my dear friend.

Keep up the good work.

Daniel