Call and response between Poetry --- 9/30/09

What is Poetry?

To define Poetry,

Is to define Love.

It is to everyone its own idea.

Be it rhythm or rhyme,

Or just ideas written down,

There is no set definition.

It is not possible

To define Poetry.

It is a topic, an idea

So broad,

So vague,

So huge.

To define Poetry, is to disprove gravity

...Or say it doesn't exist.

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and in response to that....

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Poetry is...

A thought, a process, an attempt at reality

A dreamstate, emotions

In text and in voice.

Poetry is:

Expression of thoughts, so others can see

Your mishaps, your joys, and how you've come to be.

It is abstract, and shapeless

It's not even possible to put down a set form.

Poetry is inspiration.

Words, straight from the heart.

Poetry helps to heal.

It isn't peace...

But it is a start.

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Week 4 poem: ANGER

ANGER

Whenever I hear you say "I'm having a bad day",

It kills me inside to know that you hurt.

I get angry at myself for getting frustrated with you,

Just because the wires aren't connected quite right.

But even more so,

Because I know what its like.

I know what its like

To be lost inside yourself,

To be a slave to your own mind.

When everything you do is wrong.

When you just can't think straight.

I know what its like

To have days go by and question how and why things

Are as they are.

And I know what its like to have a black hole in your mind,

Taking up all your thoughts, and leaving you completely blank.

Its as if our trains of thought are completely off their tracks.

Its oh, so hard so see you hurt

And know that nothing can be changed,

And its nobody's fault, because there is no one to blame.

I know that you are trying, and I am trying too.

But everything takes time.

And change is always,

The hardest thing to do.

Week 3 poem: Hair

Hair

The wavy, the curly, straightened, or with frizz

Flat and no volume.

Abstract or bizarre,

Colored, greasy, styled, or shaved,

The hair on my head is never ashamed.

When getting old means getting grey,

And the hair, parted in the center, wanted so many years before,

Becomes permanent.

The era of the comb-over begins

Growing up in phases, one can watch it mature

The legnth of one's hair is a sign of growth

Youth and childhood years, with the short and clean cuts,

Then comes teenage assembly and the legnth expands.

To the scraggled, and scruffy, the un-kept, and the glue.

From the mohawks, through the buzz-cuts,

Hair is constantly changing,

And so are you.

Sad

How Can One Be Humorous?

How can one be humorous, on this saddest of occasions?

The storm clouds move.

Rapidly, and with thunderous sound,

Making all things wet.

I see people singing and dancing

Splashing in puddles, mixing the mud.

But I just feel like drowning in my sorrows.

The make-up, down my face runs like blood.

They crack a joke,

I fake a smile.

The hurt I hold inside my soul

It can never be let out,

I will never be made whole.

Some might call me pessimistic,

But I am stuck in my head, a slave to my own emotions.

All I know is that I don't know anything.

Week 2 poem: Heroes

As a forewarning, this is not my greatest piece of writing. As a class, we choose a topic to write a poem about for the rest of the week. We write three lines a day, and this is the result.

Heroes

Throughout all of human-kind,

People have always looked up to

A higher "supervisor" for guidance.

What is a "Hero"?

A person? A spirit? A thought?

A piece of your mind? An answer to your prayers?

It is all of the above, but none of them are right.

It might be a person, someone close to you

Someone famous, someone you look up to,

Or a person from the past.

A person to offer hope,

A celebrity, a role-model.

Inspiration, celebration,

A "Hero" is to you, and every one their own.

What This Is.

This is a blog I've created to show and share my writings, hopefully with people who will comment, and respond and give some constructive feedback.

I will definitely have atleast one a week, added every monday, but during the week, I'll probably add some others as well. I've been writing and saving things for 3 years, and I now have an outlet.

This is good.

Thank you, and ENJOY!

Fred "The Bishop" Kreider.

The first product of poetry class 2009

This is my first poetry assignment of the class this year.

YOU

You are a person. A human-being living.

You are a breath of fresh air on a cool spring,

Or frigid winter day.

You are hope,

A beacon for all the other You’s lost at sea.

You are the vastness of the oceans, the comfort of your home.

You are the world, the crashing waves, and the sea foam residue.

You are the calls of the birds, the winds through the trees.

You are the beating heart, the bass, the drums of the symphony.

You are the flutes, the strings, the melody.

You are a spiders’ web.

Complex, and beautiful, and strong,

Connecting many different paths to one single piece of art.

You are forever.

For better or for worse, till’ death do us part.

You are magical, a wizard in their prime.

You are spectacular, like the Fourth of July.

You are serene,

The peace, the strength, the desire I need to go on.

YOU ARE YOU AND I AM YOURS.