Here’s another old poem of mine from 2009. Funny, I remember the field trip rather well, but I don’t remember writing the poem!
The clapboard farmhouse sighs over the cold
stone foundation, relieved to see our group.
Our guide presents us her rescued charges,
heaping food and praise in equal measure.
The plow came to rest here long ago,
its steel teeth now dull from disuse.
Horses stand idle in the shadow of the barn,
swatting at memories of sweat and cruelty.
Fresh turkeys are spoiling in the sun,
their feathers now dense and unruffled.
Fat-backed hogs sleep like the immortal dead,
living mummies surrounded by their spoils.
And our children flit across the fields like glitter,
sweeping the farm in magical dust.
Photo credit: WATTAgNet.com, via flickr // CC BY 2.0
Recently, I stumbled into some old poetry of mine. This one, written April 6, 2009 as part of the Poetic Asides Poem-A-Day Challenge, made me smile. I made a few changes to the formatting, but it’s essentially the same bad poem …
(Like a ring without a stone, this poem lacks shine.)
The Bad Poem
My words were
into neat and
all logically placed
at the end
of every row.
Pacing was slow
on every clause.
One could almost
drift to sleep
The syntax was tidy
and error free,
but the poem refused
to speak to me.
I tried to force the poem
but it refused to go.
I stirred in jazz
and zydeco rhythms
but the poem held on so.
but it refused to die.
It seemed to cling
ever tighter to form
with each technique
So, though this poem
is rather far
from one I would call
I’m pulling it out
from my misery
and laying it
down to rest.
** – Note to 2009 self: flatbread? Flatbread?! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!