I am not like god
I do not create, devour and recreate
Purely, I exist, simply because I do
I go dreamlike across this sea
Traversing fickle waters
As those before me did
Thrashing about the white caps of waves
Sailing forward, ever forward
Toward the horizon, without excursion
I am not the captain of this ship
Yet, it is I who stands at the ice helm
Without skill I navigate
Around the floating masses of ice
Bumping into the floes, now and again
Jostling to and fro
Whites of my knuckles
Gripping the steer
Belying my stoic stance which
Hides my ignorance
*I actually wrote this poem up yesterday, but did not have time to type it up and post it.
Today I’d like you to think about words buried in words. In particular, think about the words buried in your own name. Plug your name into an anagram generator, like this one, and try writing a self-portrait poem using words that are generated.
The anagram generator came up with some crazy stuff. I went with Ice Helm and wrote up this poem as a quasi-autobiography of how I feel most of my life has unfolded up until now, I also used the meanings of my first and last names in the words of the poem.