Poetry is the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy afternoon.
It is the flow of pen on paper that glides so delicately. Some are intimidated by it.
Never, ever be intimidated by paper.
Now, you may be thinking, “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard, intimidated by a piece paper and a pen.”
I want to see you sit down right now and write a poem.
You can, just like that. Sitting down, looking around you, becoming aware of all that is around you. Not just the sights, but the smells, the sounds, the way the grass feels between your toes, that is what poetry is.
For example, I was finishing feeding the chickens, it had been pouring all day, when the sun began to shine through the grey clouds, creating a greenish hue. The wind began to blow, lifting unknown fog out of the trees and carrying it off. Then, it began to hail. Small drops of hard ice began falling from the clouds. I stood there and watched as they bounced joyfully off the gravel in the driveway.
That is poetry, it doesn’t have to rhyme, it doesn’t have to make any sense at all. It just has to come from your eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and hands.