Reading poetry.

I have come to the conclusion that my poetry is slowly regressing and becoming mediocre with hints of cliche'.

I am reading an immense amount of Charles Bukowski and Rainer Marie Rilke.

Their way with words not only destroys anything I've ever written

They challenge me to be better.

The problem with me is I don't have a problem.

These famous poets often have this reoccurring monster who held them hostage as the harbored their vengeance. Leaving them passionate and full of flaming emotion.

I am not easily (genuinely) excited, saddened, or even angered.

My emotions are flippant and are easily dismissed.

If I happen to feel a moment of that fleeting passion

I better have a piece of paper or something to record my thoughts with.

Otherwise, that piece of art vanishes along with the emotion that birthed it.

So I am studying these great artists hoping to capture their flair.

Not changing my way of course, but still learning from the greats.

E. E. Cummings, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, and Emily Dickson.

Dismissing the aspect of me actually liking their poetry or not

I still study them praying, and hoping that their supreme intellect rubs off on me.

No matter, I have the raw material I just need to set it wild or tame it.

We'll see what the future of my poetry holds.