The meaning of Poetry (or any good story)

[Frank]

THE MEANING OF POETRY

Step one - read this poem by former poet laureate of the USA Billy Collins
Introduction to Poetry by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to water-ski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Step two - Read my take on this poem

I think that too many people read a poem and right away want to know what it means.
A poem is an experience, a thrill ride at an amusement park, a sensual pleasure like a good cigar or a fine wine. Sip it, taste the flavor and if you don’t like it spit it out. End of story - no need to know “what it means”- FRANK
Now having said that I will present my poem but I will not tell you what it means.

Step three - read my poem and tell me what you think

2 Living breathing Poems by Frank

I have to say I was not thinking
of poetry, but there she was
in the grocery store, discussing produce
prices with her son who was hoping
to survive the ordeal. We passed
each other, she was going one way and I the other
the way was narrow,
so I let her go first,
I extended my arms out
as if holding a door open for her and
strangely enough, she noticed and rewarded me
with a ‘thank you young man’. I especially liked
the way she said young, reminding me
of days long past when I did hold open doors
for older ladies. Some time later, same store, same day,
same two people pass again. We do the same dance,
even though we are now going back the other way,
each of us having reversed our direction,
this time there is only ‘thank you again.’ but I am happy
with that. Her son comes rushing up her, hands in air,
there you are, he tells her (as if she did not know).
He tells her they are done, she says good, can we go get our
food now. He says, yes I think it is ready now.
Now I am in the parking lot, loading my car, I see her again
she is standing in front of the Chinese take-out joint,
looking like she has lost something but I know it is not her sense
she may be silver in hair and slight, but there is still sparklers
lit in those eyes. No, she has lost her son, who stands four car
spaces away loading his or is it hers ? groceries in their car.
Neither can see the other, but I, the poet can see them both.
As the poet, I wonder how this will end, should I interfere,
or leave it to the imagination of the reader ? No, I think the
reader deserves closure and while I am thinking that she discovers
where he is and waves and then goes into the Chinese joint.
I don’t know what happened next as I drove away but you
the reader deserve some sort of an ending so, as I am walking back
from the car to my house, a very young lady rides her training wheel
equipped bike up to me and says “hello.” and I say hello back
and then she says “goodbye.” and rides away.

[Frank]

Nothing (in three parts)

Nothing is final
except everything is
the actions we take are just steps
but that step is final or is it nothing (one minute)

nothing is what it seems
hidden messages lie underneath all
the happening of today
but the pieces are not coming together
(two minutes)

nothing makes sense
which means everything does
and yet how does this explain
what just happened (three minutes)

[alexis]

I enjoy poetry because everytime I read a poem, and it does not matter how many times, I always see something different in it. It could be the mood I'm in, the colour I'm wearing or perhaps I've had a glass of wine and willing to let my defenses down.... either way, poetry is the voice of the soul. And not just the voice of the poet. With that in mind, I've been feeling a little down and totally trapped in the whirlwind of life and work, and your poem was lovely in that it reminds me that sometimes there is pleasure in something like grocery shopping! Perhaps next week, when I read it again, it will say something else to me. To pin a poem into a specific genre or feeling never does the poem, nor the poet, justice. Thank you for sharing.

[Frank]

Thank you Alexis, for your kind words. I read your poems that you posted in blogs here. I like your style. Feel free to post your poems in this discussion or in the poetry group.
I welcome your opinions and poems.

Frank

[Frank]

I thought that I would give this another try as I am ready to write a
dear jane letter to someone and try to ease the blow. I can't seem to find the right words
so I thought I would use words as a prompt.

Words - a three minute exercise

They escape from me
like butterflies, I reach
and come back with air
They taunt from beyond my reach
catch us if you can
(one minute)

are inadequate reminders
of something that has been lost
some past bond which once broken
never heals
(two minutes)

are symbols and as such they fail
objective no, subjective yes
and you think what I do not mean

[Frank]

Something on my Mind

Words are pretty poor excuses
for the real thing
Birth Notice states Bob and Jane welcome their newest addition
facts yes, and best is left somewhere on the editors floor
Time and space do not permit
long winded tales of how this came about
the can you believe it-ness is left to the reader to provide
No mention is made of the role of the best friend who
introduced them nor is much made of the fact of their near divorce
without which this child would not have been conceived
the glue, so to speak, for now, of this fragile union
It is left to the reader to insert whatever pathos they deem appropriate
No words
can speak for Jane
suffice to say, she is changed - the whys are left to us to ponder
with our biases and our know-ledges
Bob, on the other hand, seems content
again
All of which leads me to wonder
which words
I will use
to denote my feelings about it all
And then there is the subject of Michael's untimely death and my response which will fail
to accurately express just what I feel, so many different feelings - Sorry Sis just does not seem to be enough
Words are such poor replacements for not being there

[Ang Monsoon]

How ironical, that your words say so much...and yet this is a poem about words being inadequate. There are some interesting ideas in it, the real stories behind the announcements, and I imagine you will be able to get some more out of them if you wish, maybe even another poem as well. I found the last three lines particularly moving; the foretelling that attempts at communication will inevitably fail.

[Frank]

Good points one and all Angie - I will think and dream on them

[Frank]

Light (1 minute)

Moves so quickly,
does it take time to think,
or perhaps even ponder it next move
Speeding so fast
I may never be able to know

Light (2 minutes)

Goes unnoticed
until it
is gone
or fading
I am seeing it
for the first time
it seems

Light (3 minutes)

Cousin dark and Auntie Light
walking and creating shadow and color
laughing as they play with one another

[Ang Monsoon]

i particularly liked the 2nd one, all though it was as fleeting as light and i found myself wanting more...

[Beverly]

Those minute poems raise their heads again here, Frank!
Three different ways to depict light.
The first "Light" seems pondering to me.
The second "Light" particularly grabs me as it can represent so much more in
life than just light, I find deeper symbolism there and it resonates with me personally.
The third "Light" is cleverly written, nice play on words, children's book material.
For some reason Cousin It from Adams Family comes to mind for me!
How quickly, Frank, your poetic heart changes in the blink of an eye
faster than the speed of light

[Frank]

meaning, 1 minute

meaning what she says
and answering her own question
knowing other's answers
merely confuse, push, and tangle

Mean-ing - 2 minutes

Twisting, destroying
non-caring, hoping this hurts you
intending evil, spiting

Meaning - 3 minutes

mine is not yours
though they seem the same
mine come from me
yours comes from you
and we are not the same

[Frank]

Past (one minute)

past the mustard
past the table
past the door
past the stairs
past the city limits
past the iron gates
over the next bend
and past beyond

Past (2 minutes)

Chill in the air
and then it is gone
a backward glance
corner of the eye
flash of Blonde
and then no there

Past (3 minutes)

A shadow no longer seen
haunting senses
even though dismissed
by sands already at the bottom
of the hourglass