A poetry coop is an Internet site that celebrates a unique kind of creativity with words. Where else but at such a place, can fellow travelers read what comes from the heart? If you are lucky, you will connect with another poet who writes in your same vein. Maybe you still like to rhyme but the world is going toward another open format. Nowadays it is all about randomness and stream of conscious thoughts. Perhaps you want to sympathize with other sensitive souls who express their emotions in a formal manner. There is nothing so challenging as coming up with new imagery, metaphors, and similes. Novelists should stay where they are. Poetry sheds a light on innovation of language and opens one’s eyes and ears from the mundane to the sublime.
By the way, I am Rooster. That’s how I am known to family, friends, and even outsiders. I use this as my pen name when I publish poetry. Look me up on line. You will find The Poetry Coop. Read and enjoy. You know I love verse, but I also enjoy talking about my life in prose. Hence this blog. Recently, I met a poetess at the local bookstore. She was browsing in the poetry section. A light bulb went off in my head.
We talked about work and commiserated on our mutual problems. I had no idea that she was a maid until it was revealed. There is no shame in earning a living in order to have the wherewithal to write poetry. Most of us amateurs, and even many of the professionals, don’t sell their work. Hardly. I encouraged her to go on about her days. She worked in a hotel which provided an expensive and a more than decent Dyson vacuum. We know this is one of the best advanced technology brands. They are pricey, but do the job super well. She is grateful she is not stuck with an old-fashioned upright with an unwieldy bag inside. “The cleaning crew at my office isn’t so lucky,” I offered. “I know because I stay late enough to see them at work. The clunky machine makes such a racket.” “Not the Dyson at all.” Such was the nature of the mundane conversation. No matter. Off we went to the nearest coffee shop to sip java and discuss our favorite poets.
I expected to meet a woman online, and this was a rare occasion. Why didn’t I think of it before? The bookstore is so obvious! We had a lot to talk about starting with the book of poems in her hands. I also love Walt Whitman. So she was a traditionalist through and through. I get tired of formless modern rhymeless work. It is all you read in the New Yorker and the New York Times. Give me Emily Dickenson, Coleridge, or Robert Frost. I don’t mind E.E. Cummings since he was the first to go minimalist. But I end my contemporary taste here.