Poetry

One of my (many) favorite moments of the Mundus Imaginalis weekend is the 5-minute poetry, first thing in the morning. Martin and Carla read us a few beautiful/touching/sometimes unsettling poems, then the pen is ours and we have 5 minutes of silence to write our own few lines of poetry. The inspiration and air in the room gives me lots of inspiration. I feel like a poet. Whatever the quality of the result, the feeling of writing is beautiful and opens up a part of me I didn't remember I had. Some memories come back of childhood at school, I must have been 8 or 9 years old, writing a few little cute poems. But comparison to other more talented students was a quick represser of any attempt at that time and I never wrote anything since. Maybe now is a time to start exploring poetry again, as a new way of expression in my journaling?

Although I am shy to share, let's put it out there, my first poems, written in 5 minutes of morning inspiration, no editing, no adjustment.

August 3rd.

That night.
The dark stairs. Too late.
I'm on the ground. My body collapses.
Oh no, my jeans is tore.
The crowd all around. The water.
The river. Let's stay.
Sounds of thunder
piercing through my soul.
Like the night before I was born,
still warm in my mother's womb.
This time, for the first time,
it is different.
I see the bats, I feel their fear.
Fireworks no more.
---

August 4th.

As I sit around the fire
starring at the bright orange glow
surrounded by the trees
and people I feel I already know
a story is told
My heart is touched
I feel warmth
I feel disgust
I feel hope
Where is this taking me?
To a place I may know
But have forgotten the way.
Taking us by the hand and the heart.
We will all meet other there.
---

If you'd like to comment, let me know who your favorite poets are.