Poetry - Love it, a Brief, Non-Scholar's Perspective

I have been writing poetry since I was a little boy, and have been reading and listening to it since. I have taken a poetry class in college (yes, I got an A) and loved it too, however, like music theory when you start to “talk too much” about these subjects it can become too analytical and after a while – boring.

My favorites are Tennyson, Browning, and my middle name’s sake Lowell. I could never write like them, nor would I want to. Poetry is feeling. I love Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac, which I hear on the car radio every morning on the way to work. He always ends with a poem or piece of verse. Modern, haunting, exhilarating, and somber are descriptors that come to mind when I hear his familiar voice. Occasionally you will hear a piece that is even cheery. I like those, but then, I am that kind of person.

I write in the only form that makes sense to me, (Iambic tetrameter, some call it “quatrameter”, and occasionally in ballad form) and I have to emphasize the word “me” here. If poetry doesn’t make sense to the author who is writing it, then it is hollow, devoid of feeling and passion. I write about only those things that I feel passionate about. They tend to be about family, mostly, because they are the objects in my life that I love the most.

Dear Grandson
***
A baby boy was born today,
A perfect angel on my arm,
So fragile yet in every way-
Quiet sleeping; full of charm.

*

I'm his Grandpa, and so proud,
To see him here; it was a wait,
His parents say his cry is loud,
While tending needs, they try to sate.

*

And yet, he sleeps this hour in bliss,
I rock him slowly to and fro,
This moment I would never miss,
For soon this little boy will grow.

*
And now to Mom or Dad I give,
This babe so they may take and care,
All he needs to thrive and live,
Is in their loving arms so fair.
*

And now to God I trust to you,
To watch o'er him as on his way,
He knows your love and care so true,
Please keep him safe, this now I pray.

*

For now I must be flying home,
Just know that in a little while,
Dear Grandson, back to you I'll roam,
To see your loving face and smile.
***

Peter Lowell Paulson
February 6, 2010

(This was written at about 5 a.m. the morning after Graham Andrew Fischer was born. Julie and I were blessed to be able to fly to Texas to see Graham within eight hours after he was born. Julie and I stayed in Debbie and Andy's house, while the the young family was still in the hospital. I had to fly home the next day. I woke-up very early and wrote this)