Date posted: October 12, 2007 - Friday
Title: Fair warning -- it’s a poem
Current mood: indescribable
Yeah, I know, it's something of a departure from my normal faire. No political or social rant. Just something from my past.
I was going through some old papers the other day and came across this old, green, spiral-bound notebook. There were only a few pages left in it and the cover had acquired a brownish tinge to it. Inside there were stuffed several loose pages from other types of notepaper and all the pages there had fits and starts of poems. Lord only knows when I did these things in my life.
I have never called myself a poet. Hell, it's bad enough when I tell people I am a writer. Most look at you like you are nuts, or deranged. They equate being a writer with being unemployed or a bum. And if you say poet they look around to make sure there are no people in white coats following you. So I have never claimed the title; feeling somewhat inadequate to the challenge. It seems somehow pretentious to use the word.
And I'm not sure why I am sharing this here. It was only a couple of lines when I found the old scrap, but something has been poking at me over the last week or so and it made me finish what had been started so long ago.
A Poem
A poem followed me home today
Not willing to stay outside and play
A tiny thing of wit and whimsy
No one could say why it chose me
We stayed inside and spent our time
Trying out meter, rhythm and rhyme
And when the day had turned to dark
We knew that it had been a lark
