Yes, I was at a loss for a picture to use today, so I snapped this one on my cell phone this morning. I know it is a bad photo! In my defense, I was walking along, trying to take a picture without dropping my coffee cup and walking into other pedestrians. Thus there is a traffic sign in front of the statue. I’ll go back later this year to take a better picture.
I went to Barnes & Noble this morning. The book I wanted to buy, with a gift card I received at Christmas, was out of stock, so I spent some time browsing. One of the books I seriously thought about buying was a book of Robert Frost’s poetry. I have been reading a lot of poetry in blogs on the Internet for the past year or so, and I have enjoyed much of it, so I was thinking, “Why not read some by a master?” I haven’t read much by Frost since I left college, so maybe the time was right. At that point reality set in, and I knew that I would start reading, with good intentions, but that I would likely never finish the book. At best I would occasionally open the book to a random page and read whatever was printed there. The last book of poetry that I read from cover to cover was a collection of poetry by William Butler Yeats. His words sing to me.
I have tried writing poems over the years, especially in college, but my mind just doesn’t work in the right way to create good poetry. Instead I will come up with an opening line such as, “Claudia Pike, the Colorado Crumpet.” Where can you go from there except adding some tortuous words that end with the rhyme “strumpet?” It really doesn’t work if you’re trying to impress a coed named Claudia. To make it worse, you use Colorado instead of Crown Point because it doesn’t clank in your ear.
I’ve also had problems with another line. I know that somewhere inside me is a poem that ends with the line “Pork rinds and lemonade.” You have no idea how difficult it is when I fight to keep that poem bottled up inside me. Why would I want to spend time working on a poem like that, and worse, inflicting it on people. No, these bits of rhyming idiocy belong in the file of poems that I wrote in college and refused to share with anyone.
I believe I’ll stick to this blog. And I may go back and buy the book after I’ve considered it for a few days.