I write stuff. I have never taken a poetry class in my life, so I have no idea what style it is that I am writing; I just write stuff. Can y'all tell me what this style is called? I just call it prose poetry because I have no idea...is it even poetry?
Thanks for your insight,
Jeannie.
Bird SchoolToday I watched the birds play. I watched them teach, I watched them dive and flutter just above the waves. I watched the babies learn to swoop the crests and point down toward the school. I heard the chatter and the laughter and the joy. I heard them sing and I held back my tears. I saw the prism of the sun as through a marble caught inside my eye, and I laughed with them, remembering.
UntitledThe cold-white warmth of the Mother
lays its silky breath on me
showing me how to rest for now
I ache as I grow
She heals me
she feeds me
My arms twitch and pitch and fall and rise
in the quakes of Mother
strengthening me
She tells me to rest
I am resting
Her creatures play and romp
they smooth my hair and tickle my skin
they are gentle and kind
I rest
SoundsSalty water in my ear
I hear the sound of my own heartbeat
the breeze is amplified ~swoosh~
along with the sound of the waves chasing the birds back
The sound of the wind through the parched sea grass
and turtle eggs hatching the peeping of tiny toads
A summer symphony
UntitledNighttime in my garden of lusty sound
newborn lizards and frogs peeping
tomatoes with growing pains, four new babies
three almost ready to pick!
The moon is so faded and still through the foggy air up there
a luminous rainbow appears around its fat and happy globe
rain again or just new glasses?
Jeannie Elliott