A few weeks ago we had a poetry reading in my creative writing class. A local poet read some of her personal poetry as well as a collection of her favorite poets. Although I do respect the poet, she did not use the style I am either accustom to or like. I generally pay attention when in class, but my pen had another intention. This is what it was:
She stood at the podium
Shifting, feet twitching.
The students gaze unnerving
In her hand a book.
Tattered and torn, worn
Beloved not forlorn.
A cough, she reads aloud
T.S. Elliot, Magi--gave inspiration.
Her own poetry a duplication-
From teacher to student.
Iambic pentameter not lent
She speaks of physics, science.
Illusions of birds
Describe feelings in words.
They evoke sensibilities.
Religion her root
An exploration, inspiration permute.
A course that lead to the future.
New life allowed
The expansion from imitation.
This course a form of liberation.
And now-
Now she stands before us.
An example-creation of poetry.
--Inspiration--