Categories
Poems

Freedom

This beautiful bird,
Settling on a perch,
Colourfully bright,
With beak and bite,
And full of pride,
What a sight!

Here in this locked cage,
Again prepares her rage,
The fight of at least an age,
Well-worn this page.

She readies her stance,
For this next dance,
Her beak a sharp lance,
Eyes in a keen trance.

Moving swiftly into action,
Reduces her obstacle to a fraction!

This winged warrior,
Victorious in this skirmish,
Exits her prison with belief,
And with a sigh of relief,
Moves closer to freedom.

Finding comfort in larger bounds,
She claims the next perch,
And with keen eyes starts to search,
For the target of her next lurch.

Categories
thoughts

Writing poetry

Creating art, for me, is almost always an act of catharsis. Poetry is an interesting form of expression: when I am writing it, I am usually in a heightened state of lucidity.

A first step feels like all of my mental faculties are working simultaneously on extracting a lived experience.

A second step is more challenging: translation. Taking the language of memories, emotions, thoughts, sensations, et cetera, and finding words and phrases that validate them.

In that way, art (in this case, poetry), is like a vessel that contains more than just its author’s creativity, time, and literacy. It is like a vessel that contains a microcosmic view of the author’s particular experience of their world.

Unfortunately, poetry is not as readily accessible to an audience as, for example, a song, especially in the way that the author intended it to be received.

Insomuch as that may be the case, is it not a beauty of poetry that it elicits different interpretations from different people? All of whom are reading the same work, but each of whom connects with the poem as per their own lived experiences?

Categories
Poems

A Masculine Perspection

Your feminine enthralls me,
Draws me;
My masculine sees you as beauty pure,
Incapable of seeing anything else,
And why would it try?

What does it want, you ask?
And quite right,
For trouble often follows it closely,

I will tell you what this accursed says to me:

Liberate your eyes,
Let them caress her every dimension,
Envelope her in your arms,
Warmth, worldly and deep;

Ignite a fire so powerful,
She will want to fight for her world,
With a fierceness that slows time,
A light that can and will shine,
Brighter, hotter, and longer than yours.

Let her be the architect and you the builder,
And so the designs would be so grand.

It says to me:

With every glance,
You will understand better why it is,
You’re drawn and fixated,
Incapable of seeing anything less than a goddess;

Cursed nonetheless,
A curse that the masculine seeks,
To unravel,
To turn from chains and thorns,
Into sustenance and warmth,
Continuity and life,
Tenderness and sensuality.