Where Does Poetry Come From? (And a Poem for Day Six of PAD)

Before I talk about my poem for Day Six of the PAD challenge, I have something to say.

I'm okay.

Some people have expressed concern for me over the last several months after reading my poetry. Yes, I have had my heartaches. And I imagine those bits of me will never leave, but I'm stronger now than I've ever been. Of course I have had my difficulties, too. I'm not perfect and can't imagine I ever will be. I don't think that would be much fun anyway.

When I write poems, I dig down into those pieces of my life that have brought on despair and try to express them in a new way, though I don’t consider poetry my therapy. (That doesn’t mean I think that process is bad; if it works for you, then carry on.)

I am continually working on my craft. Sometimes I “write what I know” and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes random things trigger a memory from which I build a poem. And sometimes I guess. 

Mostly it is me playing with words and emotions.

That said below is the result of my “playtime” for today, a poem that came from a real heartbroken part of me.

The Day Six prompt:

“For today’s prompt, write a night poem. Vampires and werewolves? Cool. Clubbing and saloons? You got it. Lovers together alone? Right. Ex-lovers alone on their own? Sure thing. You figure out your night poem–and, yes, (k)night poems are fine too.”

 

All That's Left of My Knight Is His Armor

Every Night is the Same: Lasionycteris (Hairy and Nocturnal)

Night brushes her eyelashes
over my broken heart.
She calls them bat kisses,
lingering upside down, suckling
on unsuspecting creatures
darting in and out of my shaded dreams.

My eyelids twitch of memories
no dream can help me
to escape from, so awake I stay.
I feel your hand better than you do,
your body numbed from daily rituals
you’ve adopted to forget me.

*****