Poetry

Photo by Nicolas Messifet

A lot of people will tell you to journal in order to process your feelings. It’s a worthwhile pursuit. I believe in the power of the written word, no matter who is doing the writing. But journaling, for me, was never really the way I wanted to express the things that I was feeling. So I turned instead to writing poems.

Sometimes the poems are exactly what I want to say on the first draft. Sometimes they require revision. Sometimes they are so bland and ordinary that there is nothing worth revising. Sometimes they say nothing of consequence. Sometimes they say everything in just a few words. Sometimes they ramble.

I haven’t written many poems over the past ten years, but occasionally, poetry feels like the best way to process what I’m feeling. I find that when the dark parts of life come to roost, a poem can say what I need to say better than any other media. In a poem, I can be honest and authentic in ways that I can’t in an essay, an open letter, a short story or a journal entry. I can draw the reader (and myself) further into my pain through a poem. I can show my true self. I can use it to heal.

  • The Herald

    He perches high, his red wing tucked His voice a herald to anyone with ears. His orange against the black feathered face That nearly hides his eyes Is a flash of fire that calls and answers. Exposed against the green and brown His hues catching, bright and cheery Before the backdrop of the leaves and…

  • Twilight

    When summer is high And the afternoon heat lingers into the evening I sit, quiet and still, Listening to the sounds of transition. As the sun sinks behind the shadowy edge of the earth The birds continue their song And the crickets begin to hum As the light fades, creating an in-between space When it…

  • The Wide, Wonderful Nothing

    When I wake in the middle of the night And my heart rate is up because I can’t stop thinking, I imagine each of my problems and insecurities and hurts Laying down in the sunshine of a warm summer day And watching the breeze blow the stalks of the wildflowers As butterflies float from stem…