The Voice of A Poet

Poet’s are seen as truth sayers, observing their and collective reality and spitting it back
out with words. These truths, or perhaps simply observations, are often about the ugly
side of life. I would even go as far to say the ugly side of ugly. It is very easy to moan or
criticise the mobile or static pinatas of the world. “America is Evil”, “The weather is
rubbish”.
Personally, I don’t think I speak truth through my poetry as most of them have at least 2
points of view, neither of which are usually mine. As I mentioned in a previous blog a lot
of my poetry comes through me not from me. I am often imitating others with my words
and if I do use my own voice it is usually to ask a question.

I think this will be me covered when it comes to my blogging. At least from the point of
view of how or why I do what I do. I don’t think they are particularly important questions
anyway. I’ve covered my look, my poetry rules, if I actually have any, and now the
content in a very vague way.

Poetry can be about anything. I like to think I have proven that by taking the most
random subjects possible, chosen by other people, and written something about them.
Poetry is like chemistry or carpentry or any other …try. As in, try as one might, it is
formless, it has no particular subject matter and it can be in any style the poet chooses
to style it in. As far as I am aware there are an unlimited amount of chemical
compounds one can make with an equally infinite amount of purposes behind creating
them. Furniture the same.

So to bring it back to the title. The voice of a poet can be deep, light, serious, funny,
sorrowful, angry or any other mood that fits. On a personal level, I feel as if I am finding
my own voice more and more. And that has only been achieved by opening my mind in
terms of what I can achieve through the medium of poetry.

As long as my voice stays clear and without a hint of fear, I am sure I can satisfy this
desire, this urge, this borderline obsession of filling my time with writing in rhyme until I
expire.

Til the next line,
Si

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