Mi Confesión

I’ve been feeling a bit of a fraud lately. Not in the deceitful sense, mind you; rather, my feeling stems from the way I view myself as an artist. I have a confession to make. I’ve never been too excited about poetry.

My mother is a poet. She is also a pianist. Perhaps as a direct result of her prowess, I grew up in fierce rebellion of both art forms. I instead immersed myself in prose…and baseball…and sex…and drugs…and rock and roll.

Literature always did it for me. I loved words. Authors such as Wolfe and Fitzgerald, who could craft a whole paragraph with one sentence, were my heroes. Unfortunately, my early writing reflected my influences. Why use four words when you can use eight, right? Wrong.

It wasn’t until graduate school, then afterward in the cruel world, did I realize the power of concise thought. I became drawn to the later twentieth century writers and their more experimental styles. My writing became more loose and free. In effect, more fun. I’ve always been quite a fan of freedom and fun, but that’s a story for another day.

My point here is, I’ve never consider myself an aficionado of verse. Other than a work of my mom’s, I’ve never owned a book of poetry. Oh, I wrote a few catchy little ditties now and then; usually to gain favor with whatever skirt I was chasing at the time. We boys know a trick or two, right? Sorry, my attention span is only three letters long these days. What I’m trying to say is: I LIKE POETRY! There, I said it. I feel better now.

Perhaps it has to do with age. I’m kind of old now. What’s that song by Crash Test Dummies?

 

Someday I’ll have a disappearing hairline

Someday I’ll wear pajamas in the daytime

Afternoons will be measured out

Measured out, measured with

Coffee spoons and T.S. Eliot

 

More likely, my new love affair with verse is attributable to my current status as castaway on the sea of love (See! Poetry creeps in to my prose now…FUCK!)

I sit down to my desk each day with the intention of writing a story and metered verse comes out instead. Most of the lovely people I follow on WordPress are poets.  And, good ones I might add. I’m constantly being moved and inspired by the talented writers I encounter daily. For that, you have my undying gratitude.  And to all those that take time out of their day to read my disjointed thoughts, please know that I’m forever in your debt.  Nothing heals my heart like the knowledge that someone out there appreciates my work. THANK YOU!

 

I haven’t told my mom about this poetry thing yet. I’ve been dreading the “I told you so”. I guess I will soon. She’ll be proud.

 

Thanks again for stopping by. Please come again and, if so inclined, tell a friend.

 

Peace.

 

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About Phil

Hi, my name is Phil. I’ve managed to escape the corporate world, rid myself of excess belongings, travel the country extensively in my old Winnebago, and find a new home on a beautiful barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico. I define myself as: a free spirit, a writer, a philosophical anarchist, a poet; a lover of nature, a lover of art, a protector of animals, as well as a devoted friend and partner
This entry was posted in General, Humor, Reflection, Uncategorized, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Mi Confesión

  1. It is amazing how many of us eschew everything having to do with our parents…and then somehow…turn into them! hahaha! Or a version of them. You are a true poet. It is a gift. I know this, because most of the time I am unable to rhyme together 2 words let alone several in a coherent pattern. Keep up the great work. Your writing is a joy to read.

    Liked by 1 person

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