Though I have been slightly touched by an occasional poem, I have generally determined that poetry isn't my thing. When I read most poetry, I envision the person writing it and either roll my eyes or burst into laughter. (Nice attitude for a homeschooler, huh?)
My beloved sister, Betsy, emailed me a Sylvia Plath piece last fall. I rolled my eyes and laughed; that was the last straw. So I decided to give it a go myself. How hard could it be?
Here was my first attempt at an art form I still just don't understand but am finding endless enjoyment in attempting: (Disclaimer: Please don't be alarmed. It's [only partly] tongue-in-cheek.)
I'm a dull weed
Choking the spirit of my garden cohabitants
With my prickly shoots.
I hate.
I hate much.
I love although I hate.
My children wither in my noxious shade
Because I won't let them use glitter.
They dream.
They dream much.
Of sparkly planets with glitter moms and painting with their many digits.
Dream on, losers.
Ree
Copyright 2006
I love your poem!! Hilarious!
Posted by: melissa | May 05, 2006 at 01:25 PM
LOL. I feel the same way about poetry, but I think you've inspired me to try one of my own now.
Posted by: Kristen | Jun 05, 2006 at 08:30 AM
OMG! I thought we led somewhat parallel lives (I'm a midwestern farm dweller as well) but little did I suspect you would be my long lost Sister-in-Glitter-Loather. High 5!
Glitter is DANGEROUS. It can CUT YOUR EYEBALL. It's innane sparkliness is just a facade for the highway to utter blindness...and it gets on everything. Ew.
...now excuse me, while I drag water to the horses because the automatic waterers froze last night & I put my arm down into three feet of below zero water (yes, I know it usually turns to ice at that point, but it was below the frost line and COLD for God's sake...)to turn off the valve to the meter.
I love the farm.
Posted by: Sheila | Jan 14, 2009 at 01:03 PM