To be a poet is dangerous

Messages without Knowing

Poets acquire humanity
In their undoing, this
Dangerous self-destructive art
Who dares be ridiculed a poet these days?

This secret subversive pleasure
Isn’t it so, that we are the houses
Of art that try to be haunted
To feel what others dare not!?

Painting they say is silent poetry
Poetry is painting that speaks
But for whom does it speak?
These echoes asking shadows

To dance, that communicates
Without or before understanding
To sit in the dark and sing
To cheer its own solitude

With sweet sounds, where O where
Are the sweet sounds of old?
Poets die trying to be poets
I’ve seen it with my own eyes

Poetry is an escape from emotion
An instinct to tell stories
Like a seer or a prophet in hard times.

55 thoughts on “To be a poet is dangerous

  1. The poet seeks to capture the essence of a thought that cannot be put in language – a feeling that has not yet been defined – an experience that defies explanation – a mood that you yourself do not understand – a situation that has occurred for the first time in the universe through an act of creativity – a dipping into the subterranean depths of ones unconscious – instincts that seek to emerge into words – the spirit’s talk that we struggle to translate.

    • Indra, the inner world is indeed vast and inexplicable, it’s quite entertaining to read for example Philosopher and poets as bloggers about their inner travelers. The universe conducts energy through each individual slightly differently, so it’s quite interesting….I like your explanation of that undefinable quality of searching that a lot of poetry represents. Few art-forms I think capture the “hero’s journey” if you will, so well….

      • I begin to understand myself better through this due to the things going on in my mind and life. And the reason they treat me and my bunch of friends as the odd ones.

  2. Subject matter and wordidge to aspire to to, much respect

    A poets eyes
    A writers lies
    That with callous lines
    Allows the poet to disguise
    What true pain that their pen confides
    Upon blank sheets
    The writer stains with their lines
    So others may feel the pain
    That the poet’s words defines
    For others to feel
    To find
    To see through the poets eyes
    To believe the writers lies

  3. And sometimes cathartic and sometimes to exorcise demons those shadows that are dancing saying things that are only safe to acknowledge as someone else or someone else’s

  4. na, much poetry is not dangerous. most people don’t read it. it no longer has a mass audience like popular music or movies. you’ve got to say something really outrageous for your poetry to provoke a backlash

  5. yes I knew that. it was the title that provoked my reaction. I do wish more people would read poetry but that may be our fault for not being reader friendly — though the best read poets are, like Billy Collins and James Tate

    • Well I’ll look them up, though most modern poets bore me to tears. Maybe that’s what killing poetry, the sad state of these so called famous poets.

  6. you could be right. it certainly is a vexed question but you and I in our humble way are doing something to redress the situation. at least I like to think so 🙂

  7. Glad you decided to follow my blog. Being a poet can be dangerous in a number of ways. Apparently, from what I have been told, some of the content in my book of poetry, published last spring, “On the Rim of Wonder”, caused some men to categorize me as a scandalous woman much to my total amazement. I think of myself as a nerd.

  8. Interesting conversation. I’m sort of an accidental poet. When I started my blog I intended to tell stories. Then discovered I could say more and better express feelings with only a few words in poetry. I start with a feeling and the words follow. This is magical to me. I love that Word Press has a “poet’s corner”.

  9. Oh what perilous pursuit is this?
    to spin a poem–some ditty that will persist
    beyond the flowing wonder of the dance?
    or to outlast the painted masterpiece, by chance?
    T’is impossible I say;
    yet within this poetic project we will stay
    until our dying day.

    • Nice phrasing Carey, I suppose with information overload, the ones who will be reading our poems will be machines, what better way to “get” humanity.

      • Sorry for late reply: `how I can refine the qualities of extroversion seeing as I’m a stark introvert’ The act of writing and making available to others your thoughts and emotions hidden within by your `stark introversion’ translates to the act of stark extroversion. Hence: the duplicitous nature ~ of poetry!

  10. I can relate to this poem. I however express all the emotion that I can in my poetry. Whether others see it I am uncertain of. But I write it primarily for myself. If I am happy with what i have written then i am happy.

  11. Your last verse made me think. Very rarely does that happen.

    “Poetry is an escape from emotion
    An instinct to tell stories
    Like a seer or a prophet in hard times.”

    Thank you.

  12. Truth, I feel the pain and am compelled to share my Light. We were born in the birth pains of a new creation I think. Our generation spanned the analog and digital. We are a generation of feelers, the Quantum Generation! I feel the words bubbling from my soul effortlessly. Taking me to places I had no idea and people with beautiful words and pain. I feel comfort in them. I am not alone. I am out of sync, but I am not lost. I am still like water, moving without thinking. The words flow over me and leave what they must. I feel compelled by the Light and filled with the Love of the Universe. I hear it sing. Be still and listen, where do your words come from. Heal the pain and find the words of Light and hope and dwell on those. The world needs those voices and words. I will raise mine and share my naked heart where I can and speak of hope and life and the joy I found in all things.

    • As someone new to poetry, I felt it important to give my feelings away freely, trusting they will come back in the best way. It was freeing. These are not my words. Who owns feelings? We can only move together sharing them honestly. I see the truth in poetry. It reflects everything about us in our time. I see a new voice rising. I hope we can sing together.

  13. Reblogged this on Quantum Underground and commented:
    Funny dialouge beginnging here. How can words and feelings be honest if they are not freely given and received? I tell you we must SING! The power of it restores us All, exorcising our demons, voicing our hope, refplecting what it is to be human and feel so alone and cry out to the Void of Voids hoping for an answer. And then you look back, and the answer is all around us and The words of the Spirit are everywhere and they are singing together. I love your words and feelings. You humble me.

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