Scanning through the leaves of my poetry notebook this afternoon left me melancholic. I think I am conceding to the fact that I will never be able to scribe one decent poem anymore. It is a saddening reality, I haven’t written one for more than two years already. Four years ago or so, ideas and stories were pouring continuously, I can even draft while sleeping but now, I can only wish even a drizzle of them. My muse has abandoned me definitely.
Poetry. There are different styles and forms of poetry. Certain rules are even set by poetry scholars that need to be followed religiously so to speak – the meters, the rhythm, the stresses, the standards of Metrical Poetry. I was never attracted to it, anyway. I am more into Free Verse / Non-metrical Poetry – a form that you need not worry about the syllabic stresses, rhymes and total number of words per lines. Talking about being impatient. Hehehe.
Reading these poems once again made me realize how much I miss writing, it was a sort of walking-down-the memory-lane moment. Guess, I had written enough and they were not set to any poetic standards but just on my own satisfaction.
Saccharine-filled love poems. It is a part of growing up and I was not exempted to write down my share to these eternal love clichés.
Full Moon was included in our University Literary Publication.
3 Days with Betsy Faye
Senses of my Heart
Recognized. A couple of my poems was published in Reading Divas. It felt good even no monetary reward was involved.
Discovering My Sister, Gretel
Another one also won 3rd place in a poetry competition in cyberworld. Sorry, I can’t remember the sponsoring group as well as the criteria but I represented my poetry group Poetic Haven.
The Price of Tears
Personalized. They are the special ones. Can be a tribute to a family and friends and yes, even to heartbreaks.
In Her Wedding Dress
Uncalculated. Anything. Anyone. Anywhere.
At Day’s End
Madonna and Child
Beyond Darkness. Death. Angst. My pen’s favorite subject.
Little Leah’s Leis
Lament of A Rubber Tree
Room for Rent
Scars of War Children
Bless Me Father Enrique
Perhaps my muse is very tired and presently on a well-deserved vacation.
My ink is waiting. Patiently waiting.