Hey, @Shirley Martin that's pretty good. It grows on you. The more you read it, the better it gets. A Poet, indeed.
This is not poetry, not even good prose, but today it's how it goes: Hello boys and girls and members of the congregation herein present, greetings. The weather here is going to turn cold according to the best sources available and in turn I decided to act like a bear. That is to say, I went to the grocery store and stocked up on essentials and goodies, enough so I need not worry for the next ten days or so. In my present old age and condition, I can’t do much but I do like to eat well; well, according to my own inclinations and preferences. Since we, my roommate and I, don’t do much baking any longer, and our sweet tooth calls out for some soothing, we buy ours out. I have started buying cinnamon bread instead of making cinnamon toast occasionally. It’s not as good but with hands that are not always steady, and eyes that don’t always see well, it is not as messy or as much trouble. Having stocked up on groceries due to cold weather about to arrive, we will do as do the bears and hibernate. I do need some good reading material to go with my good coffee and the stew that is simmering on the stove; but we are ready. The only sour note I’ve discovered all day long is, somebody stole my handicap placard from my car. I can’t believe somebody would do such a thing. Yet, being able to stay inside and not having to get out and go to work is one of the joys of retirement. Let it rain let it snow, I don't care, oh no, no, no.
Only when I was a teenager and in love for the first time. I think I still have some of those poems packed away some where.
My ex has our I think complete set of his works. I have been thinking about going to "borrow them" so I can read them all again.
Risk - Poem by Anaïs Nin And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to Blossom. Anaïs Nin
I tried my hand at poetry back between 2003 and 2009 on a forum in England. It was a writing forum, all phases of writing. I wrote maybe two dozen poems. One was picked for poem of the month. I don't remember enough of how it goes to rewrite but I think the title was "Vines Outside My Window! Or something like that. What I did learn was that writing poetry, for me, was a mood thing. At least my muse needed be present and in the mood to assist. What that means is, I'm lousy at writing poetry. But I do enjoy a good poem.
I'm a poet And I know it But I just don't want to show it. Those of us who "bare" our hearts may end up getting them stomped on. When it happens enough times we just don't want to bare our hearts anymore. Someone very close to me used to pour her heart out in her diaries. One day someone found those diaries and read them...and used some info in them to shatter that person's life as she knew it. That person could have become a great author...yet after that day of destruction she never opened her heart and let the words flow again. At that time I kept diaries too baring my soul in them. After I saw what happened to one close to me, I burned my own diaries and found I just lost the desire to bare my soul in writing anymore. And like with anything else in life...if you don't use it you will lose it...my own writing skills are no longer what they used to be either. But I can always find a book, a poem, or a song's lyrics that speak my souls thoughts and feelings.
Gather the stars if you wish it so. Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years. And then . . . Loosen your hands, let go and say goodby. Let the stars and songs go. Let the faces and years go. Loosen your hands and say goodbye. Carl Sandburg
Let me stray from the poetic thread for a moment. This evening I have been reading comments on the forum and while I was reading I have gathered together all my flat harmonicas and have played them. I have not studied music; I don't know beans about it, but I have noticed a haunting flatness about these harmonicas I had not noticed before. They're not quiet as sharp, don't rise quiet as high, to the tip of the mountain but fall short on a lower flat ridge. Guess that's why they call them flats and sharps. I suppose this is something everyone knew already except me. To me it was sort of an epiphany. A tiny enlightenment. Funny, huh? I notice that nuances in the playing are more readily recognizable, a bit akin to the difference of playing accoustically vs playing with an electrified mike. Or maybe its me merely wearing a sensitive skin tonight or an overactive imagination. Whatever, I'm sounding good tonight, baby.
I had an appointment today to get my teeth repaired. This morning early I cancelled that appointment. I'm going without those lowers for a while. Two reasons for the cancellation. First, my roommate has no teeth and none can be made for her. She also has no taste or smell. Any food intake has to be something soft and if you can't smell or taste you are in one hell of a fix. It seems so unfair for me to spent whatever monies on my teeth when she is in the fix she is in. The other reason is, I have another problem which I will not name for my doctor is not sure and right now it is only a suspicion but I don't want to spend any more money than necessary until I find out if what we suspect, what my doctor suspects, is going wto kill me. Its as simple as that. I may not need the teeth.