Monday, June 15, 2015

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.

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