Poetry Is a Nope

Note: The following post relates to the project requirements for my Foundations in Creativity class. 
Originally posted to the creativity blog on November 10, 2015.

Three days pass. Alas, poetry is not working. There is output, nine poems altogether, but I am ill at ease with it. Following, is one of the poems I wrote.

Our Aged House

My house speaks of its inhabitants in low, baritone tones now.

Creeeak. Creeeak. Creeeak.

Shall you hold? Ages past and ages future? How strong are your beams?

Creeeak. Creeeak. Creeeak.

Are those sighs? Have you worked hard as well? Are you tired?


How I wish we could talk, you and I. You, my whispering, steadfast masonry companion.

Would you say to me, age gracefully as I am?

Would you say to me, have more patience as I have?

Of what would you speak, oh witness to all my secrets.

My confidant. My mirror. My heavy truth.

Silence now, only silence.

And that is that.

For me, poetry is a half-truth. Music is truth, deep truth. But poetry is worked in silence while music is noise-evident and therefore vulnerable. Today I almost sat down and played but then the family came home and I couldn’t; my hands shake.

I discovered late in life, too late, that solitude is a needed component of my creativity and our very small house has made it impossible. We live in a little house because of my desire to not live in contemporary time any more than I have to. So the lack of privacy is my own fault. Alternately, I am torn by a desire to spend time with my family because after work, commute, and sleep are done, there is so little time left. The happy medium are creative projects that I can do around and with the family.

I’m reading a book about the concept of home and apparently there wasn’t any privacy in the 18th Century for normal people. I’ll add that to my list of things I like about modern life: dental hygiene, women’s health, and privacy.

The featured photo is of our living room fireplace. We have three working fireplaces altogether but the one in the dining room always makes those who sit at the table too warm and we don’t allow our daughter to use the one in her room, for obvious reasons; she’s 12. Considering what happens to many small homes in Philadelphia, we’re pretty fortunate that the previous owners maintained the historic qualities of the home during renovations.


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