Still No Poet I

Today's Link
Rahul-Make Me Disappear

Today's Saying
A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul." ~Soren Kierkegaard

Today's Picture
Ella & Elmer in their new Green Bay Packer outfits

Not to long ago on this very blog I wrote about poetry.
You can read it here, though I can’t think of any reason why you would want to.
My time as a pseudo-poet is almost over.
On Thursday I will write my last required piece of drivel.
If I never write another poem after that I will be happy.
I am tired of prompts.
I am tired of rhyming words.
If the purpose of this whole thing was to get me excited about poetry it failed.
If its purpose was to get me to want to write poetry it really failed.
Why?
Because I haven’t written any yet.
I have written lots of drivel, pretty good drivel.
I even wrote some quivel, really bad quivel.
But I haven’t written anything that approached the level of a real poem.
I know the difference.
Let me give you a sign that what your reading is a real poem.
Next to the author’s name or somewhere on the page is a copyright symbol.
They poured themselves into the writing and they don’t want anybody copying it.
It is part of them.
If there was an anti copyright symbol I would put it on my drivel.
Feel free to steal it.
Print it out.
Line your bird cage with. Your parrot might enjoy it.
Use it on your blog.
If your dumb enough pretend it’s yours.
I don’t care.
My drivel is throw away stuff.
No investment of me in it at all.
Sorry about that.
I wrote the stuff without thinking.
I finished it in a hurry so I could do important things.
Like take pictures of Ella.
Give me a prompt. Give me ten minutes.
Instant drivel.
My psychologically inclined friends might think I’m in denial.
I’m just saying this to keep from being hurt.
I really like writing poems. I really think I do a good job.
You would, of course be wrong.
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
Soon it will be over.
Soon I can put up my symbol that I made it.
It will in some sense be a lie.
Since I didn’t write any real poems.
Well maybe one.
My love poem to Betty.
It came close if it didn’t fall into being a poem.
Hey accidents happen.

News from Pigeon Falls

The little town in my basement where the trains still run, dragons fly, and life is back to normal
On Saturday Tommy UK took the milk train to Iron Mountain and met with his uncle. As far as gathering information about his birth parents the trip was not fruitful. It seems all the arrangements had been made through another lawyer who was now dead. The birth parents were never seen or even talked to on the phone. But the lawyer did give Tommy’s uncle a small package to give to Tommy “when the time was right.” Tommy’s uncle felt this was the right time. In the package was a ring. Tommy was told to touch the ring to his rock and all the power in the rock would be added to the power in the ring. Then he was never to take the ring off. Further he was told that his birth parents wanted him to use it only for good.
This morning the constable sat in his office overwhelmed. Reports of animals disappearing in lots of three were just pouring in, He now had two bulletin boards full of the details and still he had some he had no room to post. It was an epidemic . But in every case there were no clues. Nothing to indicate what had happened to the animals.

Wrap Up

I had a rough breathing day. The oxygen started low. But we had a great day. I visited everyone who left comments yesterday and the day before. Betty and I went out to lunch with Melli and "Mom" .Since I wasn't feeling well we came back to the house and played canasta all afternoon. I won all three games. Melli is such a joy and I've learned so much I will be sad when she leaves. Now the four of them have gone out to eat and I'm going to bed. I just had my breathing treatment.
GBYA

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