Poetry & Joy

Last night

My fiance and I stayed up past midnight with our flashlights and read the first five sections of

Walt Whitman’s Song of Self.

It felt like camping; like a secret.

I can remember loving poetry all my life. I remember loving the intricate lace of language. The taste and tecture of words. But this was the first time I shared it with someone that way.

The phrases popped in my mouth, on my tongue, in the way they were meant to…

I am certain now that poetry is meant to be shared in love, lamented in loss, raised up and out of our throats in heightened states so that we may see the light in it: the spaces between each and every vowel waiting to be wrenched open.

Share some Poetry with those you love!

Keep Writing

–ECW

Poem 37 Revised

Metapoem

I am a poem from this side of the states to t’other

Map-scratch these lines and find your trails rugged

With these words, I declare them satisfaction in roads mid-construction

Highways heaved of trees; I am progress—if poetry

Moves forward—I am the windshield protecting inspiration

From misfortune’s wind and ambitious stones.

Thumbs out! Or clutching nubs once pencils. I am

Poetry where I stand or wherever I once stood. Come

Lace-up with me some afternoon baked in the mountainside

I am poetry aching for a destination, for it is destiny

Sending me to you.

—ECW

Poem 37 Original Poem 37 Edited