They read to me from A Child's Garden of Verses and recorded on video, for all posterity, me reading my earliest known poem. I was six or seven at the time and my poem was about a herd of horses. That seems to be the bane of the writing life - wondering if anything one writes holds any possible interest or meaning beyond one's own head. I don't know. I cling desperately to the idealistic and hopeful belief that writing matters.
Poetry affirms our soul and humanity.
Poetry unites us, teaches us, guides us, entertains us. In the very act of creating poetry, new life and spirit are breathed into the world. I can only try. Read on gentle lover of poetry, if you wish. Venus by Susan Seddon Boulet.