“I don’t create poetry, I create myself. For me, my poems are a way to me”. Edith Sodergran
In grade five I wrote my first poem
called, “Winter"
in a little, red schoolhouse
on a little, small desk
with my little, small hand
The teacher promised to publish it.
I think she forgot.
Like a gull forages for food,
I still hungered for words
to pour into diaries
To create my own worlds
I know I forgot
Then high school came
a tumultuous time to define,
An English teacher
recited on wing,
“The song my paddle sings”.
By a poet Pauline.
It enlivened a longing to awaken my dream.
Poems become worlds when I wake up my pen.
And one time a poet held that candle for me.
©reated by SkyHeart
A CANDLE FOR ME
