Waves run frothy cold
ever continuously
words escape me
Some may argue that poetry is a lost art form designated to serve penance in classroom-setting hell. While that might be the methodical approach for many, to me, Poetry holds intrinsic value; spanning past the slobber covered page, and spoken out of the mouth’s of great visionaries and humble poets.
Haikus, for example don’t proclaim artistry from being “revolutionary” in it’s diction or with explicit meaning alone. What makes a haiku beautiful, is that it is able to operate under a certain structure of limitations. Precisely a verse of 3 lines, consisting of five syllables, seven syllables, then five syllables.Those limitations are perhaps the essence of it’s beauty. The nature of a haiku often times can transcend reality and hone into a simple experience that possess profound implications that could be applied to life. In other words, working with what you have, and not from what you lack.
The haiku I had written about the ocean gave way into how I look at the world more or less. The first line actualizes being with the ocean, the waves seem to chase me as to take me. The second line frames the waves disposition, and the third line conveys how the ability to describe the experience has left me speechless, leaving me unable to fully escape the grip of an ever-going tide. But when I visit the beach and look upon the vast blue body of water, there is no single feeling of disheartment, I do not perceive a dark unfamiliar abiss, all I have is hope, and all I feel is wonder.
So when I am asked about creativity I think in lines of poetry. More than just words, they have meaning, and it is meaning that I give, that give poetry its power. There are hindrances I cannot control in this world, they could be seen as limitations but they do not exactly limit me. Within the parameters of my mind I am able to empower myself, seeing the beauty in the world despite all the chaos and unjust.