I’ve always thought that poetry was esoteric.
A cryptic language of a secret society, which
only those fluent in ‘blank verse’ could decipher any meaning in, let alone any depth.
Nowadays, poetry is something I’ve not just grown to appreciate, but evolved to dabble in on occasion, and especially when writing on those topics where standard verse just somehow just doesn’t do emotive justice.
On the occasion of National Poetry Day yesterday, I felt there was no better excuse for some spontaneous sonneting, than the rationale that it might *might* just prove cathartic.
Anyone partial to flexing some occasional poetic prowess will probably agree... there’s a certain power in framing our thoughts, visions and ideas in rhyming couplets... that makes art, out of argot!
What I have found, as well, is that there’s no better way to cut the cord of that which weighs heaviest on our hearts (and minds)… than by gifting these emotions and experiences the life-force of their very own poetic pulse.