Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Monday the 28th is Poetry Reading day, and that is the theme for my host of blog carnival.
I have so much to say about poetry it isn't even funny.... well maybe a teensie bit.
I wrote my first poem in 7th grade, and it was kind of dark, and everyone took it wrong and thought I was going to kill myself.... um no.
Poetry is actually why I am a big journaler, journal maker, etc. I started filling up so many journals I started making them too! Gotta have something inspiring to write your goodies in!
I have been writing poetry for many years obviously, along with fiction, creative journal entries, short stories... etc. Poetry is my first creative writing love and I love reading and learning about new formats and all that good stuff.
I do not understand how people don't like poetry, reading it is just such a beautiful thing, but writing it is freeing.
My teacher this semester said it best; Poetry is an experience. And it truly is.
So I am saying, if you feel like you cannot write poetry or don't like to, try again, without worrying about grammer structure wording or meanings get yourself into a habit you like and that you are comfortable. I try and make myself write every night, and a lot of nights I produce absolute crappy nothingness, and some nights I don't want to write, so I don't. But then there are the times where you just lose yourself in what you have to say and the words flow from your mind to the pen and onto the page and it is a beautiful thing and you have just produced something great, and that makes everything else worth it. My advice is Just write!
Make it your own experience.
Also get out there and read read read, you get better and inspired by reading other poets work, even songs you like, those are poems too!
Two of my favs: Pablo Neruda & Sharon Olds

Here is a very recent poem of mine:
Your Innocence

Taste of rain
warm on your lips
summer on your skin.

Smell of morning
sun on dew-filled grass
yawn of night
fresh and untainted.

Sounds of familiarity
train whistles midnight
frogs in an unknown pool
crinkling of the wind
hum of highway cars.

Feels like sleep
healing refreshing deep
smooth coldness against warm skin
silk between fingertips
heaviness pressing down.

Looks like life
cloud spotted dusk
floating pollen spring snow
sun rising over waters edge.