I am a very thoughtful person. I do not mean that I think things through in an orderly and organized manner or that I necessarily think well about others .
I just think a lot. About anything that comes into view or mind or hearing or whatever. So it is kind of noisy in my head. It doesn't bother me and it makes running alone quite entertaining, if not peaceful.
I was taking a break the other day and saw the perfect tree. The "Platonic" tree if you will. Plato had this idea that there was a perfect everything somewhere in idea land and that all out existence was but cheap copies thereof. Hence the platonic (ideal) relationship being one without physicality
Anyway way I wanted to paint a picture with words so others could see this tree. I realized that that would be a poem which brought back memories of many short poems I wrote in my last year of high school and my first (sounds so much better than only) It was very easy and I wrote a lot. Of course since it seemed too easy and the few times I had tried to read poems outside of court.. class ordered pence I had never been able to make myself pay attention. Robert Frost "Whose woods these are...." and "...I took the one less traveled" And who could miss Leaves Of Grass. (Full disclosure I do not remember anything but the title and maybe something about wind...or was that "They call the wind Mariah?) The point being that if it is easy and if one can or will not read poetry one by definition cannot be a poet? Luckily all those poems have magically disappeared from the Earth so there is no way to test that theory.
I just read the title then the post and they do not seem to be connected. What was I thinking about when I started.... Oh yeah how my life right now is relatively stress free and it feels uncomfortable because I have always had some sort of crisis since ... well since before I was born Any way strange times...
I just think a lot. About anything that comes into view or mind or hearing or whatever. So it is kind of noisy in my head. It doesn't bother me and it makes running alone quite entertaining, if not peaceful.
I was taking a break the other day and saw the perfect tree. The "Platonic" tree if you will. Plato had this idea that there was a perfect everything somewhere in idea land and that all out existence was but cheap copies thereof. Hence the platonic (ideal) relationship being one without physicality
Anyway way I wanted to paint a picture with words so others could see this tree. I realized that that would be a poem which brought back memories of many short poems I wrote in my last year of high school and my first (sounds so much better than only) It was very easy and I wrote a lot. Of course since it seemed too easy and the few times I had tried to read poems outside of court.. class ordered pence I had never been able to make myself pay attention. Robert Frost "Whose woods these are...." and "...I took the one less traveled" And who could miss Leaves Of Grass. (Full disclosure I do not remember anything but the title and maybe something about wind...or was that "They call the wind Mariah?) The point being that if it is easy and if one can or will not read poetry one by definition cannot be a poet? Luckily all those poems have magically disappeared from the Earth so there is no way to test that theory.
I just read the title then the post and they do not seem to be connected. What was I thinking about when I started.... Oh yeah how my life right now is relatively stress free and it feels uncomfortable because I have always had some sort of crisis since ... well since before I was born Any way strange times...
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