The Power of Poetry
My Place, My Power

The poetry where I came from was a place of safety. I learned the game well enough there to play it on the run, but not so well I couldn’t stumble.
The poetry I know now is mostly a place of carefully-devised woes, a place where I’m right at home but deep in the wrong.
I’m still trying to learn the rules. I love the game well enough to want to play it forever, but never good enough to win. I come from a land of poets. It’s true there is much too much rhyme, and worse than that, lots of ill intent and bad manners. I like the rhymes of my roots but dislike the way they treat the poems they care for. The territory I claim is where it’s been and where it is. I’ve found that when a poem starts to talk back to its past, it can only stay alive through its own self-sustaining agency.
The poetry I love is a place of kindness and worry. It’s a space where we’re all free to have fun but not to forget. I don’t limit the poets I love. I don’t even limit the poetry I know. All that limits me is my readiness to die in the body of it all.
I’ve seen the works of the poets I know. I’ve seen their places. I’ve seen their offices and the poetry inside them. I know what poems can do for us, and I know how they’re made. My claim to this place is that it’s got a life of its own. It’s there, where it is.
Places I’ve been have given me the power to claim this one. I share the words of my people with you, even if you don’t have a home. This space is ready for you to turn it into a home. This place is ready for you to live in it. Maybe this place is yours already, maybe it’s not yet ready for you, but at least we can wait together, and the cost of our wait will be more than worth it.
Poetry is everywhere 💚 But the question is, how much do you love it?
This way I can share your poems with everyone






