How lovely, to feel the world like this.
To sing and to be sung to—
knowing, somehow, that giving and receiving
are the very same thing
dressed in different clothing.
To run into the wind, wondering:
am I running towards life
or is life running towards me?
To feel the world, like this.
a word from brooke
Poetry has been the sweet surprise of my writerly journey, so far.
Poetry was where my fascination with writing first began, although, this fascination grew through reading poetry, not writing it. As a child, I was spellbound by the massive bookcase in my Nan and Pop’s back room. I would gravitate to that space, like it was a safe and beautiful home.
I remember always returning to the same book: a poetry collection by the poet, Helen Steiner Rice. Every time, that book enticed me into the flowing world of rhyme and heart—a place that resonated at the deepest level of my humanity.
I began producing my own rhyming poetry, a few years later, in my early teen years. Rhyming was a fun way to explore language and creative energy, especially the way rhythm and flow felt within my body. It’s a shame there is such a stigma attached to rhyming poetry. When done right, it can be the most beautiful whole-body experience for writers and readers alike, so if you do find yourself a budding writer attracted to rhyming poetry, I really do hope you give it a go. Writing (and reading) in rhyme can be very cathartic. Not to mention, fun!
Poetry (although I don’t tend to write in rhyme, much, anymore) is still my way of handing the reins over to that deeper part of me. The part of me that feels the most authentically me—whether you want to think of it as your spirit, or some deeper unconscious space within the psyche, I don’t think it matters. If you can access this place, you can create. That’s certainly been the case in my experience, anyway. It’s been such a fulfilling journey, the exploration of creativity. Writing poetry has been the cherry on top of an already sweet cake.
You can find more of Brooke’s poetry at Brooke-Cutler.com