I've always enjoyed writing poetry. It's something I can't help but want to do. I've found that it's a muse hard fought, but so fleeting to catch that when I do finally get around to feeling like I want to write something, I better do it because before long the idea will have passed and I will have lost my muse.
Truth be told however, I piss myself off when I'm writing because I always think about the poetry I read that isn't good. For every George Herbert and TS Eliot there's a prepubescent teenager regaling his or her last frenzied love with multiple monosyllabic words and phrases that do not make much sense except they rhyme well. And, unless I somehow get "discovered", I'm always going to associate more with the latter than the former. And maybe we all should. Maybe that's when poetry is its most real and most beautiful.
It still pisses me off.
To that end, this is one I've been working on (and will be revised I'm sure):
We are all amateurs when it comes to poetry.
Each line, clumisly written, thought, unwritten –
(because lines never endure the
while sitting two tables away from each other)
Develop down the page with the fire of kindlingwood.
(and I know more from you at that moment
than I swear I would have in years beside)
We burn brightly with hot heat
Having no consideration to the fuel
We spend until it's far too late.
(I thought to get up then to see you, but you
were done, looking intently to the door)