Last night, I was unwilling to go to bed at a reasonable hour, so I stayed up and read some of my older blog posts (from a now archived blog), including several posts about language and poetry. It’s interesting to get perspectives on how I viewed my poetry ten years ago; I thought most of it was overwrought back then. I wonder how I’ll view today’s stuff ten years hence?
As I sat reading some of what I’ve written in years past and more recently, it occurred to me that I might be more comfortable with the intimacy of poetry than I am with the lack thereof in so many of my short stories. Regardless of thinking my older poems may have been overwrought, though, I am becoming more convinced that poetry does, indeed, flow though my veins. Now, if I could just channel some of the emotion I seem so ready to display and, instead, feed it to my poetry generator, that might give me some results.
