My Balm from Gilead
Posted: 20 October 2009 05:11 PM   [ Ignore ]
Total Posts:  21
Joined  2009-10-14

Hello Everyone,

My name is Brian, and I’ve been writing poetry since preadolescence. I don’t have formal training. I couldn’t tell you if something was written in unrhymed iambic pentameter if my life depended on it, and I despise most modern poetry. I just read and write a lot. I live for the eloquent flow of words coinciding with one another as they form stories or ideas, as if the work were nothing more than a natural facet of the English language; a mathematical arrangement of graphemes and phonemes inexorably and inconceivably conveying meaning, beauty, truth, or laughter; a verbal fractal extending infinitely into the readers’ subconscious wherein the desire to make the sound of being burns primally and eternally, to what some call the katsu—the shout that emanates from the soul.

I love run-on sentences.

And I love to start sentences with the word “and”.

I wrote for almost fifteen years before I desired or sought publication. I wrote for myself, and occasionally for those I love. These are still my primary target audiences. I began publishing for the pleasure of it on Myspace. I wrote jokes of the day, comedic poetry, and sometimes things I just liked the sound of. Eventually I began adding strangers geographically proximal to me. These strangers inspired me to seek a broader audience. Everytime I heard that I had lightened someone’s day, even for just a moment, I felt I was making a ripple, a potential butterfly effect that could expand to dimensions that seemed preternatural to my own sublunar cognitions.

That is why I am here.

I am a writer. I want to make the world a better place via my craft, and I hope this medium will help me achieve it. I still need training, and I am eons away from satisfaction. But in the meantime I hope you enjoy my work. I still have questions and always will, and if you can help part of me will always remember you, though I may never see your face and your name may fade from the fallible collection that is my memory. I don’t know if I should include a copyright sign on submissions, or how so much of the world of poetry became the verbose and often grandiose, sesquipedalian, and prideful aberration that it is: something so far from the Blake, Marvell, Poe, and Silverstein I gorged myself upon in my youth. I don’t know infinitely more than the organ betwixt my ears can ever hold. But I do know that I can make ripples, and the path is littered with stones.


Posted: 06 November 2009 09:49 PM   [ Ignore ]   [ # 1 ]
Total Posts:  635
Joined  2005-08-30


I shall steal from Dory, re the stones on your path:  Just keep throwing, just keep throwing.  Glad to have you here!

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