I
did a doodle today for World Poetry Day. I studied and read many poems as a
teenager and in my early twenties, but sadly have been distant from them since.
Or so I thought.
Poetry
comes in so many varied and beautiful guises, obvious in their subtlety a lot
of the time, or unobvious in their disguise at other times. I have listened and
sung along to song lyrics on the radio; I have been captivated nightly with my
daughters bedtime stories, rhyming or chanting to childhood prose; I have
memories and emotions evoked through poetic licence of advertising, words from
prose used to obtain reactions; and I look at my own work, the words I have
written, and realise the poetic beauty within descriptions and character
formations.
The
poetry of my youth and informative years has stood the test of time and played
a quiet role in so many aspects of my life. It crept in when I wasn't
looking and has worked its magic.
Thank
you poetry.
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and
hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a
bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly
dance.
The waves beside them danced; but
they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little
thought
What wealth the show to me had
brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure
fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
