Who would have thought poetry possible? Certainly not me, the business writer, the essay creator, the creative journalist at heart and by practice.
But alas, our writing evolves and it should. Poetry is groovy and we all can do it.
Not long ago, I took Sage Cohen’s Poetry for the People course – an fascinating personal writing journey that forced me to live slightly larger by putting descriptions, metaphors and seemingly vanilla thoughts into art words (that’s my humble definition of poetry.) I dug deep and diverged from my reports and talking points into the magical world of analogies and colors.
Sage was one of the first authors I interviewed and I’m eternally grateful to have grown as a writer from her inspiration, tools and wisdom.
So…here’s my third poem in my very short collection. It’s way better than the first I wrote a few years ago, “An Ode to Cupcakes,” though I do adore those divine creations.
P.S. On Sunday, I have the honor of reading one of my very own special poems at one of my best friend’s weddings. Yippee!
A Mosaic Coming to Life
by Laura Cococcia
Red loves purple because it’s not blue or green. Too often, red feels the burden of having to be paired with blue to celebrate patriotism and green to celebrate consumerism. Red likes that purple can be a bit different, living on its own, with few obligations.
Anxiety wears flat-soled sandals. It wishes it wore fast running sneakers.
Jealousy eats granola for breakfast, by choice. While eating in martyrdom, jealousy wishes it had eggs, pancakes and sausage and loathes anyone who does.
Most people know that fear rents space at the top of the Empire State Building. What few people know is that fear actually owns a large, well-decorated 5 bedroom house in suburban Connecticut and often pays visits to the wives in the neighborhood who wondered how they ever got there.
Blue borrows a wedding dress since it would like to experience, just once, the beauty of the day when women all over the world are looking for blue to share. Blue, of course, promptly returns the dress to its owner.
Pink sings boldly, loudly and slightly off pitch – but just belts it out.
Truth tastes like watermelon, coming into our lives very infrequently, but enjoyed by so many. Refreshing. If truth were always in season, perhaps it would taste a bit more like peanut butter.
Are you a poet that doesn’t know it? Share a link to your work – or your hopes to become the next Mary Oliver – in the comments below.
If you liked this post, please subscribe!