"Poetry is ordinary Language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and bloodied with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words" - Paul Engle
Paul Engle puts it so well and many fellow and sister poets will understand what he means. To the readers, the poem sits blandly on the page with a modest invitation to read it. Perhaps they will, and savour it, understand it and be moved by it if it touches something of their own experience.
To achieve even a small amount of this, I have to allow myself to experience the heights and depths of emotions, through pain, grief, frustration and elation, amusement and moments of silliness. There are times when I quietly weep as I sit typing away until it gets too much and I have to stop. At other times I'm on a high and can be heard laughing and "yes" ing away to myself. Such waves of power thrashing around inside, searching blindly for those words that can capture the passion and pin it down on the page, delicate, yet tough once in place. Poems are something we conjure up like spells and by the time they're finished they sit serenely on the page whispering "Will you read us? Will you get us? Will you love us? Will you hate us? Can we help you? Do our depths reach yours?".