of people always following the rules and saying that's the truth. It's not the truth. It's a game. And a very dangerous one at that. Who makes these rules--the dead? How do they know what our lives mean to us? It's bullshit. Art is creativity whether with words or toes digging into sand or leaves being brushed against skin. We're the ones who are here. Our feelings are the now. Yes there's something like a connection to everything and everybody but so what? Poetry is alive. It's not a statue. It's not a mountain.Poets see clouds in anything that moves and skies in every eye. Freedom to create asks for courage as much as craft.
Thank you, Darryl, for writing this.
I think the rules are made for people who have not yet started thinking for themselves. I do not share your high view of poets but I am quite happy when I meet someone like you who is seriously searching.
Prose poems and other poetic forms that don’t play well with others.
The net is down. Play.
This is a public group.
Anyone can see it and join.