My Always

Some days
I burn for the person I need to be
yearn for the things I am yet to see
and all I can do is nurture the seeds
till one day my real life can begin
my future, my dreams
my Always.my always.png

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What is Poetry?

I was asked yesterday, “what is poetry?”

Such a simple question, but it floored me.

I guess it is like asking a musician “what is music?”.



For me, the definition has always been implicit within the word; so I just write. I had never really stopped to think about the definition or technicalities. After a moment of mild panic and discomfort, I pondered, scratched my chin and wrote down this:

Poetry is a symphony of the heart
A moment in time
A little verse or rhyme                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
of ideas formed inside.

I looked at it. It was missing something. I left it and than researched reflections from other poets. Adrienne Rich once eloquently stated, “every poem breaks a silence that had to be overcome” ( 2003, pp 85). This made me think further, following I found a piece of work by Ted Kooser who quite simply states – “poetry is communication” (2005). Again a realisation dawned, that within every poem there is a thought or idea that needs to be conveyed.

I’ve always thought of poetry as something deeply personal but the output is much more gratuitous than that. It is a way of transposing an idea and thought gracefully. Consciously, I now reflect this implies engagement from the audience. If overly ambiguous the reader will be lost. And what is a poem without the reader? Can I just write for me? As Rich states: without the one who listens, who reads (the active participant) the poem is never finished, (2003, 85). This relationship with the reader again becomes quantified.

My three year old daughter looked at me the other night and asked what I was doing, “writing poetry”, again the question arose, “what is poetry?”. Hmm if I have to be able to explain it to a three year old, the definition needed to be a lot simpler, “poetry is a beautifully written story.” Too simple? Without getting too hung up on definitions but more for interest sake, I ask you, what is poetry? Does thinking about this make you approach it differently?

I’ll guess I soon find out if this changes my writing style.

Missing You

I have unintentionally taken almost three weeks off writing poetry. It was meant to be just two: Two weeks to review 50 days, two weeks to write on other parts of my blog, to have a break with my family and to think/plan/ponder ideas for my poetry book.

Then I had a little operation and an infection which kept me at bay for another week. And I started back at work. Apologies, I have missed my blog terribly.

On the flip side, I have commenced planning my book’s content and I am having fun talking with Tasmanian photographers and staking out sites and destinations to write about.

Self-publishing feels like a very natural step forward, but at the same time I conversely feel like a nobody, embarking on the huge adventure with a high potential for failure.

I’ve had fleeting moments of horror when I realise the enormity of the task, primarily, what if I don’t do my home justice? But I figured as long as that one person enjoys my book, I will have succeeded.

I realise that I need mentoring on poetry, self publishing and editing. As luck would have it, my University is running an intensive poetry unit over the next month. It is run by a lovely Tasmanian Poet so the experience should be both enjoyable and educational. It starts tomorrow! I also need to start submitting work into magazines and publication, so I have been researching local and national poetry magazines to see where to start. I have no idea if I am good enough, but I have to at least try!

Which made me think how much I am missing the actual work, so here is a little quick note..

Missing my verses,
their sweet little touch

missing my writers
who encourage me so much

missing the voices
of all those that count

missing the fortitude
of little dreams that mount

missing ideas aspiring
from my head onto page

must pick up my dreams again
tomorrow is a brand new day.