an odd title for a class. What is an introduction? To most, it is merely a fleeting moment. A brief "taste", a passing vision, swift as shadows and as instantaneous as a bolt of lighting. A more striking question is "what is poetry"? As discussed in this class, there is no real definition for poetry. It is not merely lines and stanzas and oddly placed line breaks, nor is it characters and spacing, nor word counts, nor is it an equation of sorts. Poetry, in it's purest form is a feeling. Poetry is that look from across the bar where you share the most intimate moment with a delicate stranger. It's the warmth you get from a log burning in the fire place as you share gifts around a Christmas tree.Its a butterfly landing on a flower in a meadow dripping with fresh morning dew.I remember in grade school reading "shall i compare thee to a summer's day..." and having to write my own version of it. Counting words and rhyme schemes along the way. This class has kicked down all the walls and brought up valid points. Poetry is freedom. It's that "chee". It has ebbs and flows, ups and downs, love and hate, pain and joy and every end of the spectrum of human emotion. This "path" is but one of many. If poetry is love, then I see two paths in the wood, and I aim to choose the latter. There is love in the sense of Halmark cards, with their trite notions and delusions of grandeur, which I hope to someday experience in a first hand account. Unfortunately, lady luck has never erred on my side in regards to the fairer sex. I have a bitter outlook on the notion of "soul mates" and often convince myself that there is no soul to begin with. These poems are the type that result from sleepless nights, a pack and half of cigarettes a day, and a deep cut. They show pain, anguish, and torment equally, as well as loss. This path is for everyone who has ever given their all to someone for nothing in return. It's lies, dirty sheets and that piece of your heart that no longer occupies that space on your sleeve. This is the big middle finger that you never were man enough to point at the one who betrayed you

Begin this path: Andrew Simak Introduction

1. Simak Poem 1
2. Simak Poem 2
3. Simak Poem 3
4. Simak Poem 4
5. Simak poem 5
6. Simak Poem 6

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