trying my hand at poetry
even though I don't call myself a poet
I am one of those people who writes poetry but doesn’t really consider themselves a poet. As a kid, I wrote poorly written little poems about my favorite things. Now as an adult, I still write about the things I like (and sometimes they’re still poorly written), but now I mix in the messiness of breakups and heartbreak and pain.
My next writing project will be one of poetry and short stories of both the heartbreak and things-I-love varieties. Not to mention the more mystical, dreamy variety. It’s already started! So far, made up of the poems and musings that have cluttered my notes app for years.
I figured since I’m introducing you to this whimsical little project of mine, the first poem I show you will be included here in this free letter (from the mystical/dreamy category). More poems and insights into the book will make appearances in future paid posts.
Without further ado (and self-promotion), I present to you:
THE FIELD BEYOND THE FENCE
here I am, going about a regular day
when I recall a fragment of a dream
was it the field beyond the fence?
the rustic smell on the crisp morning breeze?
or the soft pink light of the lantern
that brought it on?
whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter
the wisp of a dream long since dreamt
is so pleasant, I feel the need to capture it
to preserve it
so I may call up the warm nostalgia whenever I choose
but like the string of a balloon floating skyward
I reach out for it but cannot seem to grasp
and before I know it, the sensation is gone
the ribbon slips between my fingers
and dances off into the wind
that sliver of a memory
that fleeting vision
is gone
and only the trigger remains
I can’t seem to remember the rest
but I can tell it was good
it feels like a distant, happy memory
and as unsatisfying as losing it is
the reminder will have to be enough
until I happen upon
the next lantern
or field
or scent
Well, let me know what you think. Should I call myself a poet?
See ya in the mystic dreamy realm,
Natalie