I suppose that as of late I have become quite the morning poet , in the manner of William Stafford , who famously would get up early in the morning to write while he was not being bothered by anything else in life. Although I have typically been a late night writer (which is when I do most of my blogging), for whatever reason getting up early in the mornings has allowed me to enjoy the poetic moments of the gray early morning period as night turns into day. This morning, for example, the brisk and windy weather inspired me to write:
The wind rustles through the trees,
And as I listen to it through my window
I wonder if it sings for me
Or for itself alone.
I see the trees sway with the sound
Of the wind’s song
And though the tree is mighty
And rooted in the earth
Still it moves to the breath of the wind.
Yet the wind is so insubstantial,
One could hardly know it was even there
Unless one saw the world bend to its force
While it wandered here and there
Over the face of the earth
And over the surface of the seas.
Perhaps we too are like the wind,
For no one can see where we’ve been,
If they ever cared to know,
And no one can say where we are going
Except if they divine our path
From the way in which we move
While we are here.
One would think that writing in the early morning, at dawn, would tend to inspire happy and optimistic poetry as the day breaks into sunlight. I have not found that to be the case of late, though. Today’s poem is not necessarily a melancholy or mournful one, but it is certainly reflective. That seems to be the dominant mode of my recent poetry, reflection, specifically tied with the relationship between the interior world of thought and emotion and the exterior world of physical creation. So, at least briefly, I would like to comment a little bit on the circumstances of what inspired this poem and at least a few of the elements that I was pondering on when I conceived it. As is often the case, little experiences in life tend to fire my creativity.
Early this morning, sometime between 5 and 5:30AM, I was puttering around in the kitchen and eating a bit of breakfast when I heard what I thought was the rain. When I looked outside my window, though, all I could see was trees swaying in a moderately intense breeze. As it happens, the area where I live has a lot of trees, and so in the morning light I could see the results of the breeze, which sparked a reflection about the intensity of the wind. Of course, the wind is greatly powerful (as I have long known, having grown up in an area where hurricanes and tropical storms were a frequent threat), but it is also invisible except for the effects it has on the world around it. It is also a nomad, wandering the world, but usually in bands that show patterns and regularity despite the constant movement. I was struck by these contrasts, and by their relationship to my own life. Naturally, it led me to write, because there is so much that the world around us has to say about our own concerns and our own existence, if we will only pay attention to it.
One of the results of my recent interest in writing poetry, along with my longstanding interest in music, is that I have chosen to add some musical coursework to my studies. Right now I’m working on a music theory class, which has been interesting so far. I have also added a class on songwriting. Of course, this means that I have more music related and poetry related material cycling into my mind, which usually leads in some indirect way to more creation. Reading and observation fuel the fire for creation, which in turn provides more material to reflect and muse upon, and to provide the experiences and conversations that fuel more writing. So long as one remains open to life, and to the little moments that spark thought and reflection, I suppose there will always be something to think about and write about and talk about, hopefully with different perspectives that improve our lives, and the world we live in as well.
 See, for example:
 See, for example: