UNDISCOVERED POET

~My Poetry ~
A quiet place for my undiscovered poems, thoughts, and pearls of wisdom.

born to catch butterflies on her tongue

She was born to catch butterflies on her tongue.

With shooting stars in her eyes,

she would wait for the rain

to wash the day

out of her hair.

Sitting on a small, dry patch of grass,

she closes her eyes

and waits

anticipating the flutter on her tongue.

As a child

she advised balloons

how to bounce and stretch.

She interrogated hens

until they told her

the truth.

When she tires, she closes her eyes

and shrinks to the size of a pea,

and hides under a maple leaf

in the backyard.

She feels safe there

resting and dreaming

of a world filled

with butterfly wings.

~My starting point~

My name is adrian. My pseudonym is stan laurel. I am from Denver, Colorado, USA. I don't believe that my writing is American just because I am from the USA. My writing reflects me, and if that includes bits of my heritage (being German), then so it does. Otherwise, I write about life.

Unfortunately, poems do not appear out of thin air. It is not as though, at any given time, I am walking around with a beautiful poem floating in my head, and all I have to do is grab pen and paper. Many times, I start with a simple idea, possibly an emotion I am experiencing at the time. This is my foundation. All of my poems are autobiographical. They are created from within. Once I have something important to write about, I can begin. This is where some magic is involved. Although entire poems do not float into my ear, I do experience certain phrases or word combinations that sound pleasing. I write whatever idea, word(s), phrase(s), and/or sentence as quickly as I can in order to capture the entirety of my mind. Finally, I begin to write a poem. I write around the words or phrases I wrote on paper earlier. Many, many, many revisions ensue, and after some time, I am ready to share my poem. It is important to note that (1) writing is a skill that increases with repetition. The more you write, whatever genre, the easier you can express your ideas; and (2), revision is a sometimes never-ending process. It is difficult for me to imagine any of my poems as “complete.” There is a point, however, when you have to let go and see if your poem is going to fly.

~Poetry to me is~

I write because it feels good.
Poetry means so much. It is how I capture my life for others to relate, enjoy, or just read about. It is a way for me to obtain a form of immortality. Poetry is also therapeutic. It allows me to relax and see things with hindsight.

There are too many poets, writers, and other people who have influenced/inspired me. I will try to name a few: Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl, Sylvia Plath, J.D. Salinger, Joseph Heller, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, William Faulkner, James Joyce, Alice Walker, Henry David Thoreau, Franz Kafka, Lewis Carroll, Lao Tszu, William Shakespeare, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Edgar Allen Poe, Langston Hughes, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, William Carlos Williams, Ezra Pound, Marianne Moore, T.S. Elliot, E.E. Cummings, Ogden Nash, Theodore Roethke, Elizabeth Bishop, Gwendolyn Brooks, Robert Lowell, Richard Wilbur, Allen Ginsberg, W.D. Snodgrass, John Ashbery, Anne Sexton, Richard Howard, Adrienne Rich, and many, many others.

A shower in the summertime

The hot, dry wind

blows against my clean, wet hair.

My shorts stick to the

backs of my wet legs.

A shower in the summertime

makes the dry heat

feel refreshing.

~My Poetic Achievements~

My only poetic achievement is my collection of poetry. I have compiled my poems on my poetry blog and hope to publish a book of poetry some day.

~My Aims in poetry~

My main goal in writing poetry is to please my own mind. I do enjoy sharing my poetry with others and welcome any constructive comments.

~I end over here~

Write! Write! Write! Read! Read! Read!

The Candle's Flame

The candle's flame

flickering in its bowl,

flashes a butterfly's shadow

upon the wall.

Its patterned wings flutter.

The rim of the bowl

curves the butterfly's wings

making an arched span.

Simple in beauty, hovering on the wall,

complex in specifics,

I admire its beauty

until a gust of wind

extinguishes the butterfly's flight

(it's soul rises up, pours into the sky, anddisappears).

Everything else you need to know about me can be found at my personal blog: http://undiscoveredpoems.blogspot.com/