we've started another discussion in my group
about forms and such. i really like some forms.
i've mentioned before about my admiration of
haiku. i am in awe of them. they are akin
in my thoughts to fine silks. my hands,
so to speak, are rough and would snag and
ruin them so i would much rather enjoy them
from a master's pen. some enjoy the effort, the
challenge. i do not. just as some love crossword puzzles
i left those years ago. in my eyes(and i admit, i am odd
i know, oh i know)
they look like the mazes mice
are put through.
i want emotions, in your face feelings
those can be unintentionally softened
by a strict adherence to a form. there are times
i can't
jettison a word or line to fit someone's rules.
that doesn't mean i don't like the rules
or that they aren't there for a reason, just that
i never could see being put in a box, labeled.
i've had too many labels in my life, tried too hard
to live by the rules and whims of others, always looking
over my shoulder, afraid.
there are many different art forms, types of music
ways to prepare food, dance whatever it might be.
some i like, some i don't. i can see the poetry in things
that were not even thought of when i was young.
the slams and such. my english teachers would have
had strokes or worse had they sat and watched and listened
tho some, i think might have embraced it and the poet on stage!
i am not much for rap, but i recognize it's music,
the flow, yes, the poetry of it.

i am not much for certain types of food and i can't
enjoy the taste of food on a plate that is so artistically
presented that i can't put my fork and knife to it
without feeling as if i am taking a hammer to
the pieta. yes, somewhat of an overstatement,just me, i suppose.

i like paintings and sculpture to be realistic most times, but not always.
no, not always.

one of the most beautiful and perfect, PERFECT, things
i've ever seen( except, my newborn daughter's face)
was the real pieta at the 1964 world's fair in new york.
i can STILL see it if i close my eyes. that was many years ago
i was a child, but i saw perfection and it both haunts me and soothes me.
perfect is rare and perfect can be perfect hell to live with, to live up to.
just as in dance, there is barisnikov and then, there is me, with
my lack of coordination and awkward style, but the joy i feel as i move
to "old time rock and roll" or " when a man loves a woman"
is mine as barisnikov's was his. worlds apart, but joy is like
the arts, filtered through our life experiences. it is joy.
who can tell me that my joy is not as valid?
so if you want to write, write, sing, sing, dance , cook, paint
just go full tilt boogie. you know what they say
(and with all due respect) "to each, their own"
go make something your own, before it's too late.

my rant, s