To My Fellow Poet, Imaginist
There is a small group of poets I come across sometimes
who write in a very lucid and vividly concrete style which totally enchants
me because, unlike myself, they seem to do it effortlessly. They also
use images that are so unique, I can barely manage to think up
such unusual figurative language. For that reason, I made up the word "Imaginist."
One such poet who wrote in this style was Sondra Ball (recently deceased)
who published the successful ezine, Autumn Leaves. Although this poem of mine
could refer to other poets I admire here at Soup as well, I dedicate it to her.
It's not an easy thing for me-
that which you do with mind and
matter ( paper; ink).
How the world so differently you see.
You startle senses with your
imagery.
Oh, were it so I too could seize
a moment;
throw it back to you
new (and incredibly concrete).
I think that would be indeed sweet.
God gifted you this thing–
this creativity,
and yes, you use it well,
in fact, beautifully.
Though what you do
day in and day out
may only come to me
infrequently,
I will plod along,
my words
to tout (or to flout)
what life is all about.
For you . . .
who fails to hesitate,
Time hasn't long to wait.
Pen in hand, do continue
to, most fruitful one,
proliferate.
For Amy Green's Contest: Wow Me With Inspiration
And now for PD's the free verse (old/new)Poetry Contest
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