It started with the walk:
People, fun to be with,
Sights more spectacular than words can express,
The joy of leaving all behind.

So no, it started before the walk,
The problems, the questions,
Unavoidable consequences and unwanted certainties,
And the joy of putting them all behind me for one blissful weekend.

It was egged on by Brigitte,
author, teacher, facilitator.
Her way with words, her way with us,
But most of all her enthusiasm.

It was done in a jiffy.
Done but not finished,
Like a craftsman fine-tuning to perfection.

It was read.
Bright eyes flashed;
Appreciation so welcome,
And later reciprocated
As poem after poem was added
to our kaleidoscope of creation.

Then, back to earth,
with a piece of paradise in mind and heart.
I read it to an earthling;
What was the point!


This is the story of the first ever poem I wrote. My reaction on hearing the word poetry had until then been one of - not for me. That changed on a weekend for hobby writers, and here I describe how it came about.

29 August 2009 at 08:46  

O_O this earthling is shocked outta her wits!

My Sunday Poetry

29 August 2009 at 10:05  

Just let your thoughts flow. Then it becomes easy..

I ought to know!

weeks trample on each other like magazines

29 August 2009 at 11:42  

Hello! We invite you to contribute to our new poetry blog: objects of imitation

29 August 2009 at 16:33  

I remember the first poem I wrote and shared with others...I can completely relate to your words. Lovely read!

29 August 2009 at 19:16  

A poem about a poem! Great. They say it gets easier but I'm still to be persuaded! Loved your piece.

29 August 2009 at 21:04  

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