wishing I had a poet in me...
ok, honestly - I think my writing sucks. A big fat one.
Everytime I read something I wrote, even if I think it was hot at the time, like when I re-read....
I found the divine in the words of a poet
And I'm afraid that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice
I want my tongue to give love, life
to raise stars in the heavens...
...and in the four walls of a reading
the spirits descended
ancestors walked
more beauty than the average heart can perceive
the poets started the revolution
which will NOT be televised
but wrapped in the loving arms of an unbroken home
the revolution lies in a gathering of caramel, cocoa
and coffee colored faces
no blood shed
nor degradation, nor misogyny
just poets, giving intelligence energy
and poetically shattering someone's conventions, stereotypes
and dirpoving the myth
that tells the lie
and I...
...I found the divine in the words of a poet
and I fear that my tongue, my imagination
cannot do/give that poet justice.
my head wants to just spit: "pah...that just SUCKS. That's gotta be the most contrived piece of crap I've ever read. yugh."
red devil on my left shoulder, shaking it's head: "you really should stop trying to write, and move on to something you're better at. like folding sweaters at Rich's. Or birthing babies..."
angel on my left shoulder, hitting devil with her tamborine: "oh shaddup - you are forever throwing salt in her game. That was hot sweetie, really. As good, if not better than most of the poems I've ever heard"
red devil: "gawd, you're such a suckup. quit babying her."
angel: "negative a$$. you're forever beating her up, and for some odd-a$$ reason, she listens to your non-creative self. that's why she's got writer's block now"
me: "dayum, it's no wonder I can't dayum write, for all this noise in my head..sheesh. And since when are angels violent?!!!"
and then I'm my own dayum nay-sayer. Part of me is like - false humility. Maybe you're just seeking validation. The other part is really like, you're your own worst critic. Maybe you just need some objectivity.
I dunno. Alls I know is...I'se stuck.
What do y'all do when you're stuck?
ps. I know that whole interaction was very Three Faces of Eve-ish. I don't think I ever claimed sanity. I told y'all before I talk to myself...that sometimes that's the only intelligent person I can find to have a conversation with...you prolly didn't believe me...
Comments
Ok Saga. You have to stop letting that old critic in your head take over. I like the insomnia poem. I can relate to it.
I love my poetry especially as it evolves. I read poems 5 years old and laugh at how my own words still impact me. LOL. My major muse(he helped unlock my dead poet) loves them also. He is a poet too. We trip on our own words, Oww, Aww, and laughing at them.
Girl, embrace your gift and quit trippin. A gift is a gift and many will never have that gift. We get beat up enough by the devil, society and a whole bunch of negativity. So quit contributing to it. Work them words, and show them what ya workin with. LOL.
Posted by: Shai | December 27, 2005 02:21 PM
*smile*
thank you - the voices are (honestly) a lil quieter with some outside intervention
Posted by: saga | July 3, 2005 05:37 PM
I thought poetry just came from the heart. You're doing a pretty good job to me....said the angel with the tamborine.
Posted by: youtoldharpotabeatme | June 30, 2005 05:05 PM