Yesterday, I realized, again, how good my ex-in-laws really are. The really good Julie and Kevin
hosted a really good July 4th party. I realized how good Kevin — who challenged my boyfriend Michael to a future cook-off — really is at preparing food and also protecting his clothing.
If you are very doubtful about how good you really are, please join with me and Julie in realizing it, once and for all.
I realize how good expressing thanks really is, so thanks to Julie, Kevin, their cats, the city of Boston, everybody else who helped me realize this post, and — of course! — to you, for how good you really are.
In Day 589: One Thing, I posted four pictures of words I had encountered in my travels. Two of my generous readers saw the results as poetry, no less.
Ever since both Louise Gallagher and Hilary Custance Green saw a poem in that post, I’ve been considering that I might be poet (even if I don’t know it).
I might even be a good poet, like this impressive dog, whom I remember very clearly from a long-ago Late Night with David Letterman:
Actually, when I compare myself to that dog, I feel pretty daunted. I mean, that’s some damn fine poetry, don’t you think?
Comparing myself to other poets doesn’t help, though. Therefore, I am going to let go of the cognitive distortion of comparisons and doggedly try this poetry thing one more time, with some photos I took yesterday:
Geesh. I don’t know about that poem. To me, it doesn’t seem right.
Two questions: What’s wrong with it? And can I fix it, before it’s time to publish this post?
Here’s what’s bugging me about that poem:
It doesn’t rhyme. And while lots of great poetry doesn’t rhyme, I HAVE written limericks (and a few other poems, too, now that I think of it) that rhyme fine. (And maybe I should show off that skill, here, to impress my readers.)
The “poem” implies that there is only one way to sustain yourself (which I don’t believe, by the way), and then it contradicts itself, by showing more than one way to do that.
One of the words I chose for that poem was “independently” and — while I value independence — I think we can be too independent, sometimes. It especially bothers me that I’m using the word “independently” within a post where (I hope) I’m showing how important the support of others can be, in helping me feel better about myself and take risks.
It doesn’t have a big finish. Even though I think the sentiment on that cup is helpful and important, I’m afraid it won’t leave a lasting impression.
So what to do, now, before I end this post? I really don’t want to rewrite that poem.
Well, I COULD show off one of my old limericks or other rhyming achievements from long ago. However, the past is the past, as another cup tried to tell me yesterday:
And even though I might have some issues with my writing here , another cup has some helpful advice:
Hmmm. Showing that third cup allows me to end this post with a kind of rhyme, in time (see here, if you don’t believe me).
Nevertheless, something still feels missing to me.
Maybe I could write a new poem, right now! Am I up for the task? Let’s find out!
