I was recently asked if “I thought in poems” as one thinks in English or French. I guess I do. That isn’t to say that all my poetry is good. No, much of it isn’t. I doubt I’ll ever be “known.” Still, because I do think in poems, because I see the world around me as a poem, or at the very least, a piece of a poem, I’m able to escape the world that most people live in and transcend it. In that trancedence, I find many things: happiness, wonder, adventure, childhood, the Lord, etc.
“Fantasy (and poetry) is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
— Ursula K. LeGuin
You may knock on the door,
the green one with the golden knob,
but more than likely, I’m away.
Perhaps, if you part the tall reeds
that grow as quickly as children
tickling an afternoon with play,
the reeds near the pond,
and step gently, you’ll find me
sipping tea with a frog,
which I often bake myself,
with a folk who hide
behind the sunlight
trickling from the trees.