Poems, like rose petals, like the autumn leaves, fall off me whenever there is an internal fluttering, trembling, or shaking taking place; an external wind or storm, or just a natural change, like shedding of an outgrown snakeskin for a new one. Any emotion, any thought, or awe with nature and beauty may cause it.
I remember writing (and sharing) my first poem, on seeing the Adriatic Sea for the first time, during a school field trip, at age fourteen. I published (and dared to share it even more widely) at age eighteen. In both cases, my parents and my teachers offered a loving, strong support and encouragement.
I have enjoyed nature and sang from the beginning of my life in many different forms, before it poured out in a form of poetry. I have been exposed to the beauty and wisdom of good poetry from the beginning of my life, because I remember forever seeing my father going through our home and his life reciting poetry and quoting sayings of wisdom. My mother always did the same. Both of them loved to read and encouraged it in us, children, as well. My father always repeated: A man, a valuable person is he/she who has a son and writes a book. Now I can say, I have made my father happy. I have a daughter (and a granddaughter) and I wrote more than one book.