To Calm the Minds of Poets

Calm the mind

Poets are weird…

You know… writers are strange people.  I don’t mean that in any kind of bad way necessarily, but we are all a little odd in some form.  Most of my visitors and followers are all writers with great variations of content.  If you consider yourself a writer, I can almost be assured that you consider yourself to be somewhat different from the norm.  Okay, let’s just blurt it out here and say that we’re all a little ‘odd’.  The rebels, the protestors, the one’s that tend to ‘go against the system,’ the one’s that will by no means follow the crowd, those of us who often do what others advise us not to, the ones who seek out the unknown while everyone else is content with the status quo, the ugly ducklings… that’s us… the writers of blogs, the writers of novels, the writers of short stories and the writers of works of art that nobody really knows what they were thinking when they wrote it.   We’re a breed of our own and we’re proud of it.  Anyone who can shamelessly place her or his deepest emotions and thoughts into print for the world to read… “ain’t right”.  Who would do that sort of thing???  And in public format???  Writers… that’s who.

All of us possess dual personalities and sometimes wander far into the multiple personality range as we often become the characters of our writings from within our own imaginations.  We delve into the darkness and then suddenly blind our readers with the light.  Sometimes we become so very lost inside those imaginations that we find it a difficult task to force ourselves to return to reality.  When we do, we often produce some of our most profound work.  Then, sometimes, after reading our own works of art, we come to the realization, like many of our readers often do, that we’re just plain full of shit…

Tonight I’d like to offer a poem that you may find difficult to perceive in the manner that it was intended if you only give it one quick reading.  I’ve observed people reading it and usually after their first reading, their eyes squint a little, their line of vision often drifting to one side or the other for a few moments, pondering what they just read, and then the expression on their faces changes to an image of “What the hell does this mean?”

As always, your comments are welcome.   The comment button is located at the top of the post.
Go ahead… let me have it.

To Calm the Minds of Poets
 
Poetry inspires the heart,
   And the smart enough to know better,
Than to play with minds of scholars,
   Whose hollers haven’t sounded in some time.
 
The heart inspires the melody,
   Or the rhapsody, in blooming fields of heather,
To calm the minds of poets,
   Who know it won’t go on without the rhyme.
 
Melody inspires the love,
   As the mourning-dove, reflecting dawn through dew drops,
Awakening the hands of artists,
   Whose pallets haven’t bred a sprig of thyme.

Copyright © 2014 Steven Michael Sanders

Thanks for visiting…
Have an inspiring evening!!!

Michael

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5 thoughts on “To Calm the Minds of Poets

    • I would have to agree. The difference is that most don’t want to put it into print and publish it on a public site. The subject matter remains exposed to some, but much is hidden within. Thanks for visiting and for taking the time to leave a comment. That’s what makes this fun.
      Have a great day…..

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Poetry is the balm on my soul when the world has brought out the baseball bat. Well of course writers are weird. We talk to ourselves and our imaginary friends are still hanging out with us. We would rather spend hours in the company of our characters than deal with “normal” people. We drink way too much coffee, tea, wine, liquor, etc. Except water? I don’t think writers drink much water, maybe that is the problem?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Okay, I’ll confess… I do talk to myself, but I try not to carry on too long of a conversation, so not to draw too much attention to the fact that I do so. I like to think about the possibility that our so called “imaginary friends” may not be so imaginary after all. I prefer to consider the possibility that they could be dimensionally challenged beings, assisting us in our quests for writing imaginative, meaningful, and sensuously beautiful poetry. Of course, there are also those who are concerned about my state of mind. As for drinking too much, I’ll again admit I love the coffee. It’s often not how many cups do I drink, but how many pots. The water, however, that’s the only other liquid I drink. I pour it down me continuously every day. Perhaps that’s where I have strayed from the pathway to becoming an accomplished writer…. Too much water…
      Thank you so much for your comment. I certainly enjoy the insights.

      Liked by 1 person

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