Having an obsession for the nuances hidden in a word, I’ve discovered that every utterance, whether written or spoken, prompts a different perspective in the mind of the reader or listener. Every word initiates from this variety of perceptions, emotions and experiences. That’s what gives the poet, the lyricist, the freedom to soar, free of the rules and admonitions of prose. Metaphor suddenly evolves into the absolute. Fantasy becomes fact, and dreams become reachable goals.

Simple lines of strung-together words began tumbling out of me on lined yellow paper as soon as I was able to draw clumsy, rather lopsided letters, probably the age of four or so. For nigh over sixty years now I’ve been dribbling my soul onto a page. The voice of the soul, that’s poetry.

The mind steps back and the inner force of you begins to sing its songs. Songs of joy, love, gaiety, even silly fun. Perhaps rage! Perhaps fear, confusion, hurt, agony, even the ebony of despair. For me, no other writing genre affords more complete expression than poetry. Often in a few, but powerful words, or a stark presentation, the poet’s life experiences, philosophies and perceptions emerge in verse. Memories stored for decades, or hopes for that yet coming, sing out with the effect of a symphony, the torrent of a compelling solo. Or simply . . . silence.