Paint Me Byronic

(Every once in awhile, I crank out  a poem. I just found this one while cleaning up my computer.)

I want to be a poet.

I want to write lines that make people think

That I am a wispy-haired, baggy-sleeved genius

Who ponders deep in deep woods and in dandelion meadows

And then snap-traps spontaneous epiphanies in meter and rhyme --

And who sees things about life hidden in things like sailing dandelion spores

That no one else senses.

But I’m not (though I am).

I’m just a guy who takes out the trash

And then writes somber “lines” about it:

“Lines Composed Over a Reeking Tub of Refuse.”

Still – I’m okay with that.

One can’t help it if one is surrounded by trash –

One still has to write.

If you want, though, you can still paint me Byronic.