On poetry, and the common expression of disinterest delivered unto it.

The other day at church I was involved in a conversation about Poetry. Now, I love poetry and think it's beautiful when done right. And understandable.

However, some people don't think so. Several of my friends, [and no offense to you. don't worry, I don't say names. ;)] think poetry is impossible to understand or interpret. Or that you have to be brilliant to do so.

I beg to differ.

While some poems are very much like that. Confusing, having opposite underlying meanings, but poetry can be a wonderful expression of art. So, this week I will be posting a few of my favorites and please see if you can just enjoy the beauty of them, as they are.

Day One

When I Have Fears

by

John Keats

WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,

Before high piled books, in charact’ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripen’d grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starr’d face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

On another note:

I have finished Twelfth Night, I Would Die for You, and am onto As You Like It, Radical, and Song of Roland. And still no one has joined me. *sigh* You puny non-bookworms.

WHERE IS MY BROTHER?

[I know you read this Josh!!! :P]