In the Time

In the time that I have been blogging on Xanga, and not on here, I have changed a lot.

I've become a bit more philosophical, thinking deeper about various subjects and changing my writing style.

For the better, I think.

I've also become one of those leeching freeverse poets, the ones who don't actually rhyme but try and make things sound pretty.

In my opinion, I like them better than the regular poets.

Regular poets are rarely good enough. William Blake, Edgar Allen Poe... I don't like many others. The ones that I do like tend to be anonymous.

Freeverse poets, however.

I think I'll throw some metaphors into this one.

They love words.

They arrange them into beautiful little rows and jars of syllables,
Attaching connotations to every word you read.
Suddenly, a thatched roof is not simply a thatched roof,
They speak about it with such passion that you realize
It is somebody's word on the surface,
But somebody's memory underneath.

They are like artists, but with words.
Making everything aesthetically pleasing to the mind, your inner being.
It has to not just sound beautiful,
It has to look like the artist put some thought and imagination into it,
Because certain pictures go before certain pictures, leading you to each meaning of the parts in the painting.
They make you stop at certain places,
Where the brush strokes end, and you have to pick up the image.
And when you are done looking at it, and are ready to walk away, it hits you;
The image that the artist was trying to portray,
That makes you stop and look at it again.
You realized that it is not just Jesus spreading his hands, as his disciples stack up next to him,
It is the overall feeling that it creates, the story behind it, the inspiration that you can feel emanating in the place where the artist would be.

That is what a good freeverse poet does.

In any case.

If you look at my Xanga blog, which I may or may not tell you about, depending on who asks, you can see as my thoughts progress and my views change and my inner me develops through the words and pictures that I paint and others paint for me.

Because some paintings change a person,
Some feelings change a meaning,
Some words change an image.

Now, I think, I will change this to make it more like the me I am not,
Instead of the postcard of who I once was.