I used to be a prolific poet. For about five years, I churned out dozens and dozens of ‘poems’ or verse every month. I was so inspired – every thing was fair fodder for the page. On my 20th birthday, my friends in college gave me a beautiful set of three hard-bound books of Haiku. That set off another series of small poems. I was even foolish enough to send in my poems to be published in newspapers and college magazines.
These days, the act of noticing has become a rare or calculated one. Without attention, there is no poetry. When I’m less overwhelmed, I indulge in writing small stones and even had one published in an anthology.
My adventures in poetry are now occasional. I post them when I can, but there are more fragments in my journal than actual poems. Facebook, once again, is a huge reminder of this lost love. It keeps me in touch with my favourite contemporary poets, it brings me prompts, it keeps me reading.