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About Poetry InnerSpace "One hand cannot clap Even if it knows with its own heartbeat the sound For it still longs to sing."

"Growth comes in many forms.
Sometimes it is a overwhelming discovery within ourselves,
An awakening to words that just seem to pass through us.
Words that are guided by a force within, and yet beyond, us.
If we are truly fortunate,
We are aware that it is a supreme gift.
One that we can accept with infinite gratitude."

One day an antique Royal typewriter made me sit down and start typing, seemingly compulsively, in rhyme. It had been a hard year. Words spilled out onto paper without effort or thought. This process continues, whenever the need is overpowered by unconscious thought some new writing spills forth. There is one exception. In the fifth grade my English teacher gave the class an assignment. Write a poem. This was my first experience, and I did not know how. I remember looking out the window during a very windy storm, and the following words came. "I look at a tree and I see Tiny leaves trying to hang on through a raging storm But one by they fall to the barren ground Never more to see their wind-beaten branches" The teacher kept me after class and asked, "Did you write this?" I said, "Yes", and she let me leave. It was never spoken of again. I do not know what that meant. The interpretations could be many.

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