I don’t recall how it happened; how I got bamboozled (love that word) into writing poetry.
This much I know: L.L. Barkat is to blame. (Handcuff her, folks. Lead her away.)
She recommended I start by reading Billy Collins so I did and loved it. I loved how his words only made sense if you checked your reasoning at the door and were able to bend wayyyyy over, past that left brain of logic a person possesses. Here, I’ve discovered, leaning way to the left, is where the words make sense. Or no sense at all, but that’s part of the beauty of poetry.
The first time I leaned over, I leaned myself over until I became worried I was going crazy but then I thought if I had a single worry in my head, I must not be leaning far enough so I leaned some more until I was for certain I had, indeed, gone crazy.
And here’s where the magic happened, where I discovered “it”.
A world of weirdos like me, bed-hair sticking left, then right, all happy like it was doing “the wave”. A world where it is entirely possible a mouse could be an arsonist. Or a marshmallow could invade Texas riding a hot dog skewer. Or instead of a monkey peeling a banana, why shouldn’t a monkey be feeling a bunny?
This world is, in short, awesome. One of endless possibilities. “Where all your wildest dreams come true, ” booms loud and I look down and I swear my dog was sleeping but now he’s holding a microphone seductively to his lips. His royal furriness reminds me I need to dust my desk at work, duster sliding left and right across its cherry surface, microphone screeching as the dog bellows through it because he’s getting car sick. Or duster sick.
So to this world, I go. At night, mostly, like now at three in the morning. I slip away, dipping myself low in it’s flowing depths of prose and beauty. I read words and discover worlds unknown, traveling from the thalamus to the hippocampus of another writer’s mind. Or if I’m feeling particularly frisky, I lie naked in my pajamas and write words like “bamboozled” in a little notebook by my bed.
And I always, always smile.
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If this post made sense to you, congratulations, you’ve arrived at this world before. If it didn’t, I suggest you read a few poem books and start leaning a little to the left.
Buy a year of Every Day Poems, just $5.99— Read a poem a day, become a better poet. In June we’re exploring the theme Trees.