Poetry, as any observant creature could tell you, exists all around us.
There is poetry in the symmetry of that majestic tree blossoming outside of your office window. Each vein in each leaf shimmering in the morning sun, slipping through the curl of a new bud, fluttering in a breeze that gently nudges the gnarled branches; they sing of poetry, in whispers and music so soft you must pause in your typing to hear, to listen, to absorb.
There is poetry in the silence of the early morning, as shadows come lightly into the room, drawing in the morning light, hinting at joy and anticipation. Because dawn is a present we should unwrap slowly, with great intent.
I love poetry. The kind that has cadence and rhyme and the kind that scatters words across a blank page, with not a thought of form or function.
I love how poetry shines
child’s eyes; how it
in grand colors of orange,
and green –
across the landscape of
Poetry, according to Wikipedia, “…has a long history, dating back to the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. Early poems evolved from folk songs such as the Chinese Shijing, or from a need to retell oral epics, as with theSanskrit Vedas, Zoroastrian Gathas, and the Homeric epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey.”
In the world of business today, the 21st century today, have you noticed yourself overlooking the poetry all around you? We spend so much time ‘working’ – we have little time for amusement – and poetry. Just think of the drudgery of that term; work is something you do for pay. It’s something you have to do, to put food on the table. It’s fraught with disillusionment and often with dismay: how did I get here and why do I stay?
It’s so sad that in that drudgery, our poetic self fades into the woodwork. We cannot see the angel wings, or feathered clouds; we are too busy walking through the essence of poetry around us. And, even when it calls to us, we shake our shoulders as if a cold breeze, a message of chilling rain to come, is slithering down our neck, and must be shrugged off.
I have a sincere desire to burst through the barriers we’ve built up around poetry and art. I have a strong desire to bring creativity back into our lives.
There is so much of art in life and business. There is creativity lurking in corners of rooms or edges of the sidewalk, pulsing as we pass. It is there in the open spaces of time as we rush through. We can clutch at it, in rooms of loud people laughing over lunch. But, we don’t.
Who hasn’t heard the poetry in a child’s question about a caterpillar inching along the walk, tickling her toes of a bright summer afternoon? We know this kind of poem. Don’t we?
I believe there is art in the office, as well. It’s in the pie chart a colleague created, not thinking of ‘art’ as much as thinking of results. And yet, if you look a little deeper – it’s there, in the colors, the font of the explanation on the page, the language used to tell the story. It’s all art. It’s all human. It’s all us.
In the book On the Origin of Stories, by Brian Boyd, he says, “…a story does not bring about its own outcome but causes an audience to feel and respond in some ways as if they had witnessed the events.”
Is this not what poetry does? What narrative does? What human beings crave? The experience! And, in that pie chart, that presentation, that story of why and how the marketing plan worked, poetry peeks out – a word here, a gesture there, a smile and a chuckle. Whether we choose to attribute the outcome to poetry, I say the experience is poetic, regardless.
I do believe we are born, we live in, and we grow old in poetry, regardless of our ability to recognize it.
If you are ready to acknowledge the abundance of art in the world around you and in your very soul, if you are ready to move away from the buzz words of business, I urge you to step aside from your worry that your narrative is not worth sharing and instead, throw your words on paper, scatter them like leaves in the summer wind, until you discover the sound, the touch, the feel, the experience of living as a poet.
Let your inner muse emerge. Create the refuse and dearest pleasure… of your dreams.
“My dreams were all my own; I accounted for them to nobody; they were my refuge when annoyed – my dearest pleasure when free.” ~ Mary Shelley
If you’re ready to bring art and narrative and poetry into your life, both your personal and business life, the better to allow your soul a chance to sing, jot me a note. I would love to hear more. yvonne (at) lipstickingsociety (dot) com.