Tag Archives: poetry

Why Do You Ask?

Posted in HSP, Introversion by

Do you have a bottled-up (or not) rant about ritual questions asked by people who don’t want to know, and the social tyranny which obliges phony answers even when they are the opposite of the truth? Then here’s a treat for you by the prolific, inimitable, illusionary (about which more later) British poet, Brian Bilston.

Brian Bilston New Year Office Chitchat How was your Christmas? he asks at the water cooler and, as the machine gurgles, she thinks about the bloodstained rug and the silent scraping of the spade in the garden at midnight and the wash wash washing of her hands, and the dreams, those endless dreams which haunt the night-time and smudge their thumbprints on the day to come, and she replies Super, thanks. Yours?

As posted by the author on Facebook, January 2, 2024. All rights his.

Brian Bilston is a rising star on the UK poetry scene, with his self-deprecatory, ironic, infinitely various, and frequently hilarious poems. I suspect Continue reading →

The Nature of Words

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Since I didn’t discover I was an HSP until I was over 50, I’ve got a lot of personal backstory that I’ve never revisited through the lens of personality type. Sometimes things drop suddenly from the overflowing attic of my past to unveil themselves in a new light.

The Words of Nature

Certain writers evoke transcendent experiences of the natural world. In my 20s, when I was introduced to Mary Oliver’s poetry, I began to think of them as nature ecstatics. Strangely, this is not necessarily what others noticed about their writing, but as for me, I could relate.

Mary Oliver wasn’t my first nature ecstatic – the first was probably Sara Teasdale. An author gave me a book of her poems for children when I was in elementary school. Soon after, I encountered Lucy Maude Montgomery (best known for her prose, but definitely a nature ecstatic). I found Yeats’ Lake Isle of Innisfree when I was in high school. Somehow, I made it all the way to my 30s before I heard of Rumi.

Green barley stalks with uplifting seed pods outlined against the rising sun

Much later, I came to understand I was an HSP. It didn’t take long to notice that all of my favorite, nature ecstatic poets were decidedly HSP-ish too. Or, as L.M. Montgomery would call them, kindred spirits.  Continue reading →