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bluegerl, I still haven't written that fancy, but I did write a poem. I haven't written a poem in three years (a long time for me!) ever since I threw down the paper in disgust and decided that I was a very bad poet.
Every year I tried to write a poem.
It bothered me to see two
Blank straight weeks of lines,
Which broke the meter of the year. I would
Begin most deliberately, having found an idea;
In those days, an ode to nature, usually --
Mountains, rivers, sparkling distances, those things
That seemed most beautiful to me. I was
A Romantic who knew nothing of their creed.
Invariably, the poem would reach ten lines,
Sputter and choke in unwashed rhythm
And thereafter lie on the page limply,
Buried in the oncoming months.
Or, after a surfeit of imagery; well,
A picture can’t hold up so many lines,
And I’d run out of images anyway.
Christmas break is littered with the remains
Of hopeful pictures, half-developed ideas
Left for the new year to make again.
(There is something not quite right in the third quarter of the poem, so feedback is very welcome.)
bluegerl, I still haven't written that fancy, but I did write a poem. I haven't written a poem in three years (a long time for me!) ever since I threw down the paper in disgust and decided that I was a very bad poet. Every year I tried to write a poem.
It bothered me to see two
Blank straight weeks of lines,
Which broke the meter of the year. I would
Begin most deliberately, having found an idea;
In those days, an ode to nature, usually --
Mountains, rivers, sparkling distances, those things
That seemed most beautiful to me. I was
A Romantic who knew nothing of their creed.
Invariably, the poem would reach ten lines,
Sputter and choke in unwashed rhythm
And thereafter lie on the page limply,
Buried in the oncoming months.
Or, after a surfeit of imagery; well,
A picture can’t hold up so many lines,
And I’d run out of images anyway.
Christmas break is littered with the remains
Of hopeful pictures, half-developed ideas
Left for the new year to make again.
(There is something not quite right in the third quarter of the poem, so feedback is very welcome.)
