To Shannon, who complained today that I hadn't posted in 12 days.
and who hasn't posted herself in 56 days. hmmm. Nevertheless, this is for you. (You'd better leave a comment!)
I've written 3 poems in my life. I will share all 3 of them with you.
As a senior in my high school English class, we had an assignment to write a poem. Our teacher submitted the poems to our school paper for a vote. Mine won:
When asked to write a poem in class
My paper showed a large white mass
No inspiration came.
The style shown in the book was clear
The weekend passed, but still, oh dear
My paper looked the same.
Assignments really get to me:
My grades will show my destiny
My heart is full of remorse,
For doomed am I to an awful fate
For now if I procrastinate,
I'll flunk this stupid course.
When I was a substitute teacher in the kid's elementary school, there would be a daily exercise in the younger classes each morning. The teacher would write a sample journal entry on the board and we would discuss sentence structure etc. Then the kids would go write in their draftbooks. I would always write the same funny story about our dog. I was glad to be in a different classroom every day because I only had one funny story to write about, and I could use it every single day. But occasionally the writing assignment for the day would be poetry, so my sample piece would be as this lovely poem:
Clouds are fluffy, clouds are nice
Clouds are pretty, too.
Clouds give rain, clouds give shade
Clouds are sometimes blue.
But do you know what I think about
When I get out of bed?
I hope one doesn't fall down
and bonk me on the head.
(ok, ok. Don't be judgemental. It was for 1st graders)
So today, I happened to be in a poem writing mood:
ODE TO OUR MULBERRY TREE
Thank you for the shade you give
When temperatures will soar.
Thank you for the green you share
I couldn’t ask for more.
But please, oh Mr. Mulberry tree
I’ll tell you what I meant
When we talked about this problem before
“Keep your fruit off our cement!”
I hate your berries underfoot.
I hate the them on our tiles
I hate them tracked inside our house
The spots go on for miles!
I hate the goop squished ‘tween my toes
When I go get the mail
I hate the mess, I hate the spots
I hate the rotten smell.
But here's the thing I must discuss
I know you will agree
The birds are eating your mulberries
as surely you can see.
I park my car under your shade,
For just a moment . . . it’s absurd
My car is covered with droppings
the size of an elephant’s turd.