poetic discourse as therapy

That last poem was inspired by Laura, who said I should write a poem using the sound of snowpants.. “vvvvvt-vvvvvvt-vvvvvvt-vvvvvvt” (which I had IM’d to her). But… it’s dedicated to irish-girl, who was the second person I showed the poem to, and who apparently actually broke her brother’s leg sledding when she was a kid. (Hmm. On second thought she didn’t specify when the leg was broken. Perhaps it was recently.)

My previous entry, the agate poem, was written as I woke up wednesday morning. I was feeling the particular slowness of winter eroding into spring, and the agate metaphor popped into my head. “Seasons change like agates smoothing”. I let the line run through my head as I did my morning rituals — shower, get dresssed, collect things to bring to work for my lunch… I didn’t actually type it out until just before I left for work. I also didn’t title it until then, and the title is the part I most question at this point.

Poetry is one of those things that I love to think about. I was all crabby and pissed off after reading a news article about bush’s tax breaks for the rich, and now I’m feeling at least a little better. Poetry is therapy. Poetry is rich cream in your coffee.

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