A DABBLE INTO POETRY

Yes, yes, sometimes I just can't help myself ... it's like an itch I gotta scratch, an addiction I just have to feed, a primal need that simply must be roared up from the darkest depths of my very soul! (Okay, that's a little dramatic even for me ... er, not by much; I'm dramatic.) But I write poetry sometimes too.

I recall so clearly my sixth grade English teacher (Mr. Neilson) at Sunbury West Middle School reading a poem I wrote (entitled "Towzer" after my Airedale Terrirer) to the class. I wasn't a grade junkie then by any means (that didn't come for many years), but I thought it was kind of cool (translation: I am the coolest kid EVER!) that my poem was good enough to be read out in class.

Well, I've come a long way from "some puppies are big, some puppies are small...." (let's pretend I can't remember the rest, shall we? Oh good.) But I still wind up every once in a while in that amazing and obsessive world where a poem takes over. And now these little poems can find a home here!

My poetry most often leans toward dark, but then again once in awhile, so does life, so I guess that's okay. And in its own way, the fiction of Wilson Doherty leans towards dark. Below is a bit of poem I wrote years ago... 

What is a haunt, but a whisper
what's a fear, but an old chime
and what's today for, but to live it
it all moves on over time 

so, whose voices are those that haunt us
who are they to dare into our dreams
do they barge through the door as we close it
or do we bid them come in, with a scream....
  

Heather the Jane

PS - To comment on a post, click on the title above.