I’ve never especially been into poetry, most I can take or leave but there are some I really love – war poetry by the likes of Sassoon and Owen, and of course Tiger Tiger Burning Bright. Writing poetry is not something I have ever really been interested in or especially enjoy. I like to think I write prose quite lyrically, but I don’t like being confined to the stanza.
However, around 2003/2004 I started a Creative Writing evening class at the local university. I have to tell you, I hated it. It probably didn’t help that the first thing we did was spend six weeks on poetry. At 23 I was the youngest in the class by about two decades and everyone else was there as some kind of middle class hobby. It made me really doubt whether I should/could write professionally, because as much as I love writing and enjoyed writing prose as homework, I hated the experience of being in this class. So I left after the first semester. I had wanted a class to help me brush up my spelling and grammar (which admittedly can often be poor), but instead I was in class all about fanning smoke up each other’s asses, or so it felt. So, no regrets I guess.
I recently came across some of the poems I wrote as part of the class and though I’d share them here with you. So here’s the first. Feel free to laugh and tear it apart, poetry is not my thing. But maybe some of you might enjoy it.
And here it is written out –
The History of the Moon | Hecate, Freya, Cerridwen | To those who hold the moon so dear | From first it’s pocked face | To ocean’s pull | From howling wolves | To wise man’s worship | The moon seems steadfast in the sky | The spirit’s sphere made corporeal | Penetrated only by the sun’s rays | The tender Mother of gentle dreaming | Nothing more now than dust, ashes and forgotten flags | But it lives still, fluid, tidal | An overflowing pot of silver honey | It is the fairy’s dancing and flowing streams | The moon howls back.