poetry 101

I wrote this a while ago, it's a nod to one of my favorite poets.



Long live the brambles and seafins yet,
under the waves they sleep
I left my home and all the rest
to capture the wet and the wilderness

Of what the wily sea floor left?
It beats a sound retreat--
A windpuff and the frothy wreath
stolen from under my feet

Webs of softly green and light
fold us into its creases-
Let them be left, the green and light
to sweep our thoughts beneath

Long live the brambles and seafins yet
under the waves they sleep
Interred by man they greet no one
but those who swim out to see them

On Writing

I enrolled in a creative writing class at Cuesta. I used to shudder at the thought of a writing class because that would leave my work exposed and vulnerable to the red pen of the instructor. I know that just one person's opinion is not the end-all decision of the value of my work, but I've always been afraid that my arrangement of words and spinning of ideas is just average. For the class we'll be expected to create several short stories, poems and smaller miscellaneous writing exercises. I can feel the palpitations of anxiety welling in myself as I imagine submitting my attempts at good fiction. I attempt to write often, but I have more ideas for stories than time or drive to write them. I suppose I've always known that I should be a writer, but do I write well?