This is the book that stared me off. A Christmas present from my parents when I was seven. On the back it starts off by saying “This is a book to grow on. It is also a book to grow with…”, and that’s what happened. There are poems in here that have become part of me. It’s a children’s anthology, but here is Robert Frost, both the Brownings, Yeats, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Dickinson, Whitman – so many great poems, so many great poets. Poems that have been absorbed into my bones, that sing in my blood. Poems that still influence my writing, because of their simplicity.
But why do I write? I write because I love it. I love the shaping of words, I love capturing a moment, a mood, an atmosphere. I jokingly say I write because it’s better than meditation – and that’s the truth. When I’m writing, I’m totally caught up in what I’m doing, in the act of creation. Does that sound grandiose? I don’t care. I write because I’m a writer.
Rook sits on the wire
Naming the world with his gaze
Black feathers on snow
Toni is the guest host at dVerse tonight. She asks us to write about the Who? What? Why? of our writing, our earliest inspirations.