The Salt Water Writers met again last night and pushed up against (and with) poetry. I am by no means a poet, or even a well-read one. But just like with modern art, I continue to engage and try to better understand why it is that I like something. I can’t explain why I like some poetry (and some art), but my hope is that if I continue to experience it and try to figure out what it is that I like about it, then I will be able to emulate and/or create something of my own.
It could have been the bright moon or the fact that we’re close to Halloween, but last night was decidedly strange as we were all in a peculiar (read: dark/tired/snarky) mood. One of our writers created a haunting tale of a hospital scene that was so spot on and used merely 14 words (or thereabouts). Another wrote about an inhumane practice from a foreign culture; another about the tiny wounds we inflict on one another; and another about a foggy morning and a butcher knife. Although a lot of what we created was “dark”, the
writing poetry was good — and that is still my metric for success. I love writing with these people. Maybe I should read a little E.A.Poe this weekend to continue our dark path…
[scene from the film — Blood of a Poet]