PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

One of my precious memories takes place when I was about eight or younger. My family was then living in a small town where all are friends, and neighbors were few and far. Our house was made of wood,in a two story structure and space abounds the area. The land where it stood is not measured in square meters but by the hectares.Sometimes, in my reverie,I  would wonder where, the land would end...In this house, my poetic instincts would be tested. You see, since there were no malls, no theaters, no bars,no Tv's and internets, during that time, my fathers' favorite past time was what you would now call, Poetry Reading.Together with his friends, brothers, and all who cares to join him,they would gather under a big mango tree, and with their favorite drink of Tuba, a potent liquor made from the coconut trees, they would recite their poems, sometimes off the cuff, and spontaneously, give their best performance. Their poems were simply recited, but what awed me was the way they would hold their head up high, stretch their hands upward and dedicate each and every poem to the big, sparkling,and the fullest moon that I can ever remember.Up to this time, I swear that I can even reach out for the moon, as it seems to be looking down at them, smiling and giving its nod of appreciation to the poets... If this is not Poetry at its best, then I would not know what to call it.

This small soiree, would extend up until the moon fades. Then they go back to being a farmer, a landlord, a mechanic, or smply a man in love with Poetry..Where was I all this time? I would be up on the second floor of our house, all alone in my tiny room, gazing at the moon, listening to their lovely poems, peeping at my window, since it stands as the overhead of my bed...Was I happy? was I lucky?,Oh Yes, it was one of my most beautiful memory, my most treasured moments, my Poetry At Its' Best....