Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Interesting story and a poem

Last night Abood related something very interesting. Apparently in 4th grade he had read a little poem that I had written. Then, later in the day, I threw it away. He thought I'd probably thrown it away because I didn't think it was good enough. Who knows? I have no recollection of the event. In any case... apparently he felt that i'd judged it too harshly. I certainly have never had a high opinion of my poetry, and do not consider myself a poet by any stretch of the imagination. In spite of my opinion, he fished it out of the garbage can, and claims that he saved it for years thereafter. I suppose it's nice to know that someone has always loved you :)

Anyhow, I will entertain the notion that I have always judged my poetry, as well as all other of my endeavors, too harshly. in the spirit of things, I felt that it would be fitting for me to post a poem that I wrote more recently, about 6 months ago, that was going to accompany a blog post. Naturally I felt that the poem sucked, so I saved it to a word file, and it wasn't brought back out until a girl in my church school group needed a poem for her college creative writing class. I let her have this one and one other. I must say that my exegesis of the poem makes it more intersting (so say I), but I would be curious as to what others get out of it on a blank read. Does it kind of suck? Or am I, in fact, judging myself too harshly? Of course, even if I am, perhaps Abood was right. After all, it has been years and years that I have not bothered to cultivate the poetry proficiency. Perhaps it is still decent though... well, he you have it. Anyhow, it's about to be public domain, so feel free to comment:

The Ozarks in Summer (Red Muscadyne Wine):

Gumbo and crawfish,
In a hundred a six.
With Mayhaw jelly
And some biscuits to fix.

Shed the work,
Impossible in June.
The Ozarks are green,
With the flowers in bloom.

Our hills ain’t large,
Not a true mountain one,
But accessible hills,
And a smoldering bright sun.
Yet a true culture’s measured,
By the type of its drink,
The inebriation of the folks,
That soothes them to sleep.

Some need from life,
A classic Red or Merlot,
I say to them France!
And with baguette it should go!

Others need sweet White,
And a fine place to dine,
So go to the city,
stand in your line.

But for the quaintest hills
and the rustic at heart,
heaven has provided
a liquid more tart.

The table is set,
Come friend! Dine and unwind.
A toast to intoxicating angels,
For the bittersweet bite,
of Red Muscadyne Wine.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I love you my little Ray Foofer :)

4:45 PM  

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