Roses are Red, Violets are... News?

Believe me, it wasn't easy to convince my mom that taking a poetry class was a good idea. In fact, she was kind of upset, concerned that I was wasting valuable time and money on a wishy-washy course that wouldn't help my career unless I planned on growing a beard and writing sonnets in my parents' basement for the rest of my life. I've had some interest and  experience in the subject over the past couple of years, but I knew that I wasn't going to try and become a poet or anything.  I had to explain to her that my reasoning behind the decision was to better my writing as a whole, hoping that my exposure to a more creative and imaginative form of writing would breathe new life into my creative process, and criss-cross with the more straightforward writing styles that I would use in the field of journalism.  Poetry seems to focus on the minute details in writing, requiring a deeper and more thoughtful kind of composition and reading. Now, almost all the way through the semester, I stand by my decision. I feel that the act of reading and writing poetry has allowed me a new perspective on words, sounds, rhythm (both conscious and subconscious), and has provided me even more versatility as a writer. It's like an outfielder on a baseball team playing a few innings on first base to gain a deeper understanding of the game, becoming much more aware of everything happening on the field. I'm glad that I was able to change positions, so to speak, and balance out one of the more rigid forms of writing with one of the most liberating creative practices, and I definitely plan on sticking to my interest in poetry so that I may never lose that creative spark in my journalistic writing.