What Is Poetry?

Life is poetry. Living is poetry.

A tree swaying and dancing to the rhythm of the wind moving through its branches is poetry.

A ballerina spinning gracefully across the stage is poetry.

Flowers are poetry when they bow to the drumming rain, then shake off the droplets to blossom and reach for the sun.

Flying a kite is poetry. The brightly colored material soars against the blue sky and white clouds while running children clutch the string in little fists and laugh into the wind.

Storms are poetry; the rumbling of thunder, the silence, the light show when lightning crackles and streaks across the darkness showing pieces of the world in flashes.

The absence of something is poetry. An empty swing on a playground gently moving after the rider runs off to play somewhere else. Who sat in the seat and kicked ever higher trying to touch the clouds? Where did they go and why?

Poetry is what you are feeling, experiencing, living.

Poetry is personal. Everyone obtains something different from a poem, they apply it to themselves in different ways, and not always the way the writer intended. That is the magic of poetry. It is universal and individual at the same time.

Poetry is alive and active. It breathes. It moves. It lifts and at times brings one down. It cries, laughs, and stutters. It is sorrow, happiness, fear and courage.

THE LOST SOCK

Poetry is the lost sock

that never came out of the washer

The one that should be hanging on the line

from the empty clothespin

The sock that was on your other foot

when you crawled into bed on a winter night

and disappeared by morning

Poetry is the reappearance of the lost sock

Life is beautiful and balanced once again