The Ongoing Quandary of Poetry (to write or not to write)

Yesterday one of my lovely and thoughtful friends gifted me with a beautiful book of a poem-a-day for a year, written by a local man I know of, though do not know personally. In the first poem entitled To Write or Not to Write he tugged a tender chord in my own heart as he battled with the desire to be a good steward of a calling from the One who weaves us together in our mother’s womb, without appearing as if we think we have all the answers! ‘Yet not to write would build up tension’ he writes. Every writer/poet/lyricist knows that tension!! So, we continue to seek courage and guidance from God and forgiveness and patience from fellowman in this labour of love called Poetry. Thank you, Elo Bowman, for having the courage to compile a book and encourage fellow poets and fellow-pioneers in/of an age called Today! Thank-you Paula, for thinking of me when you saw this book!💝 Poetry is personal.Poetry is pieces of a heart pressed to pagePoetry is prayer bared.Poetry is pictures snared in script.Poetry is a cup of tea, but not for all.Poetry is a tangle of pain and pleasure;A tango of trial and triumphA lyric of love and longingA hymn of heartache and hope;A hope that somewhere someone was drawn a little closerTo the Giver of every good and perfect gift, and thus to Him...To our One true, good and gracious God be the gloryfor every groan grappledand lilt lassoed,forever and ever.Amen! If poetry was nothing more than fondness for tempo and rhymeMethinks that ink could ill afford its very precious claim on TimeIf by narcissistic grit alone we captured thoughts to press to pageHow fickle then the font we hone, how futile the words we engage Poetry is a warring tug, an ocean borne deep in the soulThe tenure of a tender hug that throbs where unpenned poems rollThe pleasure in Love’s laughing eyes as an elusive wink is snaredThe sorrow of summer’s spent prize, life’s ups and downs suffered and shared Poetry is a battle fought on fields only ink can estrangeA war-cry as want weeps for naught because of what it cannot changeA flicker fanned to sentiment as whispers brave the naked eyeAs both critique and compliment are sparked where passion’s embers lie Poetry is faith over fear; no sneer can quench quixotic sighsThe song and dance of smile and tear, reverberates in creature criesAnd should confidantes be denied or should no fellow-friend be foundPoetry reaches far and wide to gather us on common ground Darling, Twilight is closing in and morrow grants no guaranteeThe tide that ebbs and flows within rushes like a vast poem-seaA fearful and wonderful deep, to dredge once more if God so willsAnd by the kindness of His keep to trust Him for the ink that spills For poetry is a like a voice crying in word-world’s wildernessAnd the poet must master choice with Awe’s conscientious finesseBecause poetry will outlive the hand that bares ballad to lightTherefore, it behooves us to give earnest heed to the lines we write Janet Martin James 1:17Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.