I do not write about lingering sunsets, falling blossom petals, the light in the early morning or even about birds taking flight.
I do not use metaphors either. Using the beauty of the world to describe emotions, renders all things oh … just so so banal.
There is no need to trap beauty into words and fancy imagery, forcing it to jump through loops of twisted grammatical constructs.
As for emotions, if you love, if you feel sad; just say it! No need for the rain to take the place of your tears. Your tears are beautiful just as they are.
In this self-centered world, where poetry is measured in hits and likes, as though it was a piece of furniture, I admit to finding little solace in the words of others.
So I lean back on the old Masters like Verlaine and Kobayashi and Hafez and Pushkin and Wang Wei and Victor Hugo and Rumi and Li Pao and Neruda and Basho, and many others.
When I hold a book of their poetry, the world slows down, everything becomes tenderly subtle and I can then hear the silence of beauty.