Poems

I have written poetry for much of my life, in journals on trains, in bed, in the middle of a field. That’s pretty standard I should imagine! There almost seems to be a season for each type of poem. Generally they are triggered by the natural world, personal feelings, by love and loss, but mostly they spring out of the anomalies between the inner and outer life. Without the the tension of contrasts, what would there be to write about?