Merriam Webster defines poetry as ‘the productions of a poet’. And as a ‘writing that formulates a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience in language chosen and arranged to create a specific emotional response through meaning, sound, and rhythm.’ But in your own words, how would you define poetry?
To me poetry is an expression of your truest self through words. It is the by-product of a meeting between your perception of a given situation vs everyone else’s.
Do you believe poetry matter? Why?
Yes I believe poetry matters. It matters most to the poet. It is a selfish form of writing. You write to first amuse yourself so that it can one day be amazing to someone else.
It’s a toss-up between Maya Angelou and William Ernest Henley. I love both of their styles and the passion with which they wrote.
Name one poet you wished more people knew about and why.
In college I would frequently attend poetry readings either on or off campus. There was a poet there who went by the name GHOST. He would always have something mind blowing to read. I enjoyed the way he stretched the audience’s imagination with his words.
Explain your poetry writing process.
My poetry writing process often times starts with music. I will be in my car or exercising and a song will come on. If I hear a word I like or a clever way they said something I write it down, take it apart, and make it my own. It then takes off from there. Once the process starts it’s synonymous with regurgitation. I “throw up” the words onto the page until I am completely empty and I am satisfied with the bare bones of the poem. Then I put it down for a day, come back to it the next day, and start my editing process. The process for 17 total (Bang) I was just getting off from work. I was beyond exhausted and locked up for the night. The minute after I walked away from my door that’s what I heard and I started writing immediately based on the emotions I felt in the moment.
Bonus Amora shares with us today a poem she wrote:
17 total (BANG)
I heard them.
The first 5 came so quickly
As the cold silver metal slipped out, heated up, perpetually cocked, aimed and fired
Then came the cannibalistic rounds
Swiftly piercing thru the silence within the streets;
Severely straightened underneath the sheets…was the victim
The next 5 came unexpectedly
As the tunes came blasting from the speakers, I dropped to my knees & sent up a silent plea.
I asked the Lord to pardon the heart, of the one who had to part with his peace.
The one who so easily took life in the darkness and slept restfully in the light;
A purpose cut short, another vision unrealized
The result of untamed pride bubbling to the surface
Full potential once thought to be unique would now regretfully reach its graveyard peak
The last 7 came indefinitely
Infinitely suspended in prime crime
It was like a rhyme written with the worst lyrics, without a beat, and no respect for time
Cutting thru the night wind with the word “eternal” tattooed on its end
All that seemed to be left was white chalked shadows leaving imprints of the hunted
It’s as if there is a customized way of recycling
It’s as if they choose to use each other’s brother as their receptacle bin
The place where hollow point pink slips come to a terminal end
It’s as if all other routes, leading out conveniently point straight to the pen
Not sure if they were dying to live or just living to die
But I do know there is a generational struggle with how to survive, how to stay alive, and how to
prevent skin scuffed dives from taking more lives
That night was so silent.
That night was so cold.
Blood splattered, dreams shattered
Another mother’s child is gone
No one knew which one of them was the accused
Another community left solemnly bruised
The mixture of emotions coupled with bleak notions became the unspoken caution tape
Hair rising shrills and faint goose bump chills
Families clutching their young; mouths agape.
Heads instinctively jerked
Ears acutely perked
Quietly listening for…
A symphony of sirens orchestrating no one’s favorite song
© Amora Dio, September 25, 2009