watches, sees, listens, observes.
Eat, mingle, talk, look down, drive.
Takes information in differently.
Sees the beauty in an old car, seagulls, pigeons, trees, rain.
Sees the sadness.
Takes it in.
Listens to the self.
Takes it in.
Knows there is always more out there.
But sometimes what it really takes to see it is the silence.
Not all conversations come from talking.
A lot of the deepest thoughts come from listening.
To your heart, nature, the world, your mind, your madness.
Sees the madness.
Comments on the madness.
Is sometimes part of the madness.
And also knows to observe, to read, to watch
To pick up cadences, to steal them.
To pick up styles, to use them.
To pick up his/her own way of seeing and develop of voice.
My poetry voyage is still young.
I am curious where it takes me.
I love slam.
Love the Portland, Maine community.
Love the support.
Love buying chatbooks.
And still discovering, always discovering.
So far this year discoveries include Philip Levine’s “What Work Is”
Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s “A Coney Island of the Mind,”
Carl Sandburg’s “Chicago Poems.” All entirely different.
Being both awed by and sometimes find repetitive Bukowski.
And listening, always listening.
For listening helps you bring the words.
And the words bring performance.
So listen, it’s harder than it sounds sometimes.
Do it anyway.
Or just find a silent place and write.
For me the woods bring good haiku.