Thinking about my own work and passions, I also consider the lessons I learned in my youth. Some were valuable as sage advice. Some lessons I think were meant to drive me to defy them.

This was one lesson I remember. I'll leave it up to you to categorize it.

Originally written May 12, 2011

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

There was a time, not long past
When love and loving were sure to last
Warm embraces in the winter chill
A hand in mine; such simple thrill
Dreams kept close to measure time
Racing hearts and arousal's climb
This flower blossom we cut from stem
Like all things in life, would find an end

-- Myself

I had an English teacher in middle school - she was a good teacher and had a passion for the English language. But of all things she taught, only one still stands out in my mind:

"You can write poetry in English, and it can be good, but it will always be limited by the language itself. However, languages derived from Latin origins, such as French and Italian, are limitless and ultimately the poetry written in these languages will always be more fruitful and romantic."

I'm not sure I agree with this, at all. I believe poetry is a trigger to imagination and emotion; not just the beauty of words in each piece, but the beauty the reader finds within the words. English can be just as romantic. Yes, it can also be vastly more clunky than the smooth vowel sounds and transitions found in French and Italian... but that is sometimes the challenge of it as well - to find not just the right words to rhyme, but the right transitions and rhythm. And of course, still bring out the emotion you hope to capture.

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our Earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.

-- Coleridge

I'm still working on my skills in this artistic expression. I used to write in down time when I had drinks and nothing but time on my hands. I felt I was making progress. Those days have been absent for quite some time and as a result, I haven't any effort into fine-tuning my inner voice.

I often hear that men have trouble expressing their emotions. Perhaps that plays into it. So many emotions within and the inability to bring them out; to put them on paper and to make them a tangible thing.

I can only hope I have many more years in me so someday I can find that down time and craft my art purposefully again.

The sense of the world is short,
Long and various the report,
To love and be beloved;
Men and gods have not outlearned it,
And how oft soe'er they've turned it,
'Tis not to be improved.

-- Emerson

Some day, I might be that good. I would become a hermit by a remote lake, but I wouldn't have anywhere to plug in my laptop, and years from now no one would be able to read my hand writing.