The sea rose, the land did sweep
Thousands died that terrible day
by water drowned and swept away
The world looked on, and horror felt
as power plants began to melt
as ancient places bubbled and died
the world looked on and the world cried
The Earth we love, a fragile place
green and blue and full of grace
cracked and broke and took them all
without a marker, without a pall
The world in anguish for those been lost
Prayer mats knelt on, the Signs Crossed
for thousands dead that terrible day
by water drowned and swept away.
My friend in Florida asked me why I don't write more poetry. That was weeks ago. It has stuck in my mind ever since.
I guess the answer is that I don't think in the abstract very well. The things I write, prose or poetry, are couched in simple terms, a true expression of a true emotion, plainly and simply put. I'm not sure that ever makes for truly good poetry.
I do write stuff in meter. And sometimes I write things in meter that rhyme. If that ever passes for 'poetry', then so be it. But I will never be a 'poet'. Good poetry makes you think - makes you consider what the poet really meant - what was on and in the mind of the person who penned the work. No one will EVER have to think about a rhyme I've written. Emotion, plainly and simply put.