I remember the joy when I first realised a poem does not need to rhyme. I wrote a not-bothered poem, unrhyming, looked at it and thought, this isn’t poetry. Then I looked again and thought, who cares? I like to write my poems in huge blocks and chunks of text, then I come back later and cut it up into the rhythms my tongue tasted as I spewed it from my mind to the blank white. If I write fast enough I can get this feeling out, amazing how my thoughts come forth in settled patterns, forcing a poem. Later I will read it back and think, how on earth did that genius, that tiny bit there, come out of me? I will then cut ruthlessly to remove the non-genius. I do not remove it all because to do so would often leave me with one word here and one there looking completely unrelated on the page. I often write in Drought. Dust colours my nostalgia, my water is my utopia, my earth and joyous home is crackling grass and the flying crows that whiten bones. I write in feelings and also gel pens or black pens or computer screens. I try to make my feelings clearer by obscuring them in metaphor, in the hopes that someone will pick my wild random phrase and say, you know, I have felt that too. I want my words to give me wings. I will write an impossibility and after when I read it through, I will say, you know, I believe that this could be real and look, look at how that word there is fluttering, it wants to be true as well.
Summer takes a sigh
Lungs collapsing in the sun
Birds fly on up-draft
A prompt from dVerse, to explore why we write in the style we do, with a traditional haiku at the end. I’m not sure my response made my why any clearer, but I didn’t realise before I thought about it that this is definitely my style, at least at the moment. I haven’t put in any line breaks as I usually do so you can see it as it is raw. I still and probably always will be growing in the way I write, so this is a snapshot of me now, I guess.