Hi there! Ola, Namaste, bonjour, hallo, hello, and Gooday.
I’m feeling very perky today (if you haven’t yet noticed). So, you’re wondering what zibber-zabber I’m about to ramble today? Oh, you’re not?
My bad. I’m going to write this anyway. I haven’t done a confessional post in quite some days – for some reason Uni and poetry have got in the way. That’s all I’ve really been doing here this past week. Some of you have even ‘liked’ the little pieces I’ve done of late, especially ‘Would you be so kind?’ And ‘Chime’. One of my favourite has been ‘Bring back the day’, perhaps the reason being that this one is actually personal and based on my childhood days with my siblings and cousins.
Now here is what you may not have noticed, or overlooked: I am not a poet! Yes, I dabble (a bit too much lately), but I actually do not know any of the rules and regulations of writing poetry. I write what sings in my head (and yes, these all sing, each with their own tune – but I’m a terribly singer and an even worse musician, so you are all lucky I only write them down!).
I must confess, part of the reason I’ve put my poetry hat on lately was because I had so little time to express my creativity in between fetching multiple cups of tea or coffee as I scratched my head over uni assignment.
So you must be thinking, if I’m not a poet, then how am I writing these? Gut instinct! Yes, we have those! And sometimes they know better than our educated selves what to do with an idea. And, truth be told, I always just get the first line of these poems coming to me, and I write and fiddle around till it starts making sense – and eventually, 3 or 4 lines down the track I finally see the headlights, then slowly and slowly with each line the poem builds itself.
Sorry if you had actually stumbled into this post hoping to learn a thing or two about composing poems, but I simply do not have the guide-book on that. All I can say is start with a line, or a word and then hand the reins over to your gut! It will (or should) lead the way. You can always tweak later on.
Don’t despair though, I have a treat. And as always, it began with a line and build itself. I’m merely the construction worker. Hope you will like…
A picture says a thousand words
What does a picture of me tell you?
Does it say, ‘Oh, look at that gorgeous girl, ain’t she happy?’
Does it invite the admiration we desire?
Or does it stir deep beneath your porcelain glee a hidden heart of venom?
Or perhaps your glance at the image stirs nothing, nope, not a twig, for you couldn’t care less about the girl in that dress?
The girl, with her ever wide smile,
those cherry lips on a milky face,
her hand on merry waists of friend, or family – who cares?
You may not know,
nor may you care,
but the girl you see may never be
the girl everyone sees. Not even she.
You do not see the strain in her smile,
the clamp of her hands,
her chin slightly tucked in,
Or the fact that her eyes glint.
You may not know what she has seen.