Words

This morning I woke up with a poem percolating in my head. Be clear, I'm no poet. The last poem I wrote was for an assignment in high school. One of my three words for 2014 is: "Words." I'm committing myself to not only read more, but to write more as well. In that spirit, I share with you my feeble attempt at poetry.

I Don’t Quite Get It

I really want to like poetry.

The names: Yeats, Longfellow, cummings, et. al.

Would greatly add to my literary acumen.

But I can’t go there.

I don’t quite get it. Poetry, that is.

My skills as a poet reside

In the realm of blue violets and red roses

Where rhythm and meter matter.

Or even in places like Nantucket

Where old men have the capacity to bring forth middle school guffaws.

I’ve tried to imagine myself as someone who

Could enjoy cold, snowy afternoons

Curled up near a roaring fire with coffee mug in hand

Pondering the options offered by two roads diverging in the woods.

But I can’t go there.

I don’t quite get it. Poetry, that is.

Prose is more my speed.

There is a beginning

A middle

And an end.

It takes me from one place to another through a logical sequence of stops.

But poetry?

I can’t go there.

I don’t quite get it. Poetry, that is.