my first poem that I had published in a local rag

[revolutionR]

my first poem that was published in a local rag
was like I entered another dimension
the whole thing just opened up before me
I saw eternity in a flash,
I saw it all like I was looking through
a great lens, the end in the beginning
and the beginning in the end, the veil
was drawn back, and and the universe
said to me, here poet, take a good look
and write it down before its gone forever
you are like a god in that moment
you can't believe that the cosmos
would enter your pen like that
something ripped a hole through the stars
and you hear angels falling, and Buddha's
being enlightened, you see something like
the universal creator kinda like Picasso's
paint brush painting the real history of the world
and it's all written in a surreal style, where each
thought manifests as soon as you imagine it
so you see past lives trailing off in the distance
into infinity, and you hear the music of the spheres
and then it's like death taps you on the shoulder
and you see the poem that was written
and a famous poet said, " and the wind blew the sun
through the moon, and the pen falls out of your hand

[saw]

excellent ruminations ...I can so relate to, " you can't believe that the cosmos/ would enter your pen like that ".....I share your surprise in that way....and also the notion that all of this happened ( this poetic expression) as if I had nothing to do with it, in a way....and I prefer that writing is a joint effort with the collective consciousness, rather than some egotistical definition like, "I am really great, aren't I ?"....enjoyed

[revolutionR]

Good comment, sometimes I think I am trying to remember what I was going through when I was writing my early poems, in any case it's always experimental.

[judih]

superb rendition of a wondrous process - while standing aside, allowing the miracle of clarity to put itself on paper, and then slowly re-establishing contact with surroundings

[dadio]

Captured well.

[leafsailors ghost]

I remember reading other poems and knowing the poet did not just write it down, I remember some how understanding that I was reading some kind of wonderful new magic , that it was real , music comes through that way ,. That is why I just hold my sides and laugh so hard when some fool thinks they can define art. Your poem describes that amazing feeling when you surrender and just listen, if it is quiet enough and if you are open the words will flow like water in a stream .other poets will know and feel the same wonderful sensation and they will know it was not you. this poem comes as close as I have read to explain that. I would not have even tried ,but that you have is a gift for those who are wondering what poetry is about. Then some fool comes along and tells you your predicate adjective is out of place and it is not even a poem and you have not communicated anything because they do not understand it.The sad part is they tell some one who is almost free , right on the cusp of becoming a living wonderful poet and the blast shatters the openness , confidence and excitement that the new poet is just finding. . When they do that to some one who is not expecting it ,It makes me turn into a lightning bolt, and if they stand still for one more second I will give them a jolt that they will not soon forget.I say this because the truth in what you write is at the heart of who we are,when it is learned over a long time of searching and working,feeling the empty ,alone , it is a wonderful gift. I will help any poet be free and encourage them to find their own expression , then they will write poems that bring tears to my eyes because I know the universe has found another voice. Loved the poem .

[revolutionR]

Poetry is magic, at least it became that for me, I lived in a town that I moved to in northern Calif in 70's when I made myself into a poet, I had already thought of myself as a kind of beatnik since I was thirteen. The town I was living in in 70's when I moved there from southern Calif. was a university town, it was full of hippies, surfers, students, and a lot of people came there from all over the world. This town was full of poets, In that scene I became a poet, I read on open mics and I met poets, they walked the streets.It is a crying shame what is happening on Algonquin's Table. The owner and a few "critics" act like poetry police, and it is one thing to point out a spelling error or write about how you feel about a poem, but the systematic anal attacks on there are totally uncalled for. I was kicked off of there before for defending myself, this time I was kicked off for writing a poem with misspelled names. Sometimes I make an error, because I just can't see that well, on that site it does not let you edit your poem once its posted, unless I just don't know how to do it.Your response said a lot, thank you for reading.