On Wednesday! I know! What's the world coming to! I could wait until tomorrow, the accepted poetry posting day of the internets to get this out of my system! But NOOOO, it's poetry Wednesday, dammit, because, as I said, I'm feeling lazy about the writing today.
I originally wrote this as a lark, riffing on someone's challenge to write a terrible poem about autumn, and then, horrifyingly, I started to like it, and tried to make it good. See? I can't even follow the rules of snark properly!
(Hey, at least it's not the Popup Camper Man song lyrics again!)
Come beautiful Autumn,
Daub with golden light
Paint with brilliant colors
Bring the nearing night
Cloak the path with crackling leaves
Gold and brown and red and green
Rustle them with gentle breeze
In sunlight’s dappled low-slung sheen
Toss high the harvest moon
Chill the lawns and lakes in morning
Warm the stones in afternoon
Nature's lasting brilliant gift
Warns of winter's frozen blast
Autumn plays with hue and light
Before the die of ice is cast.
You may commence to giggling now. I don't blame you a bit.
Once you've recovered from you little amusement at my expense, might I offer a few words on this whole poetry thing? The few words are as follows:
It's HARD to write poetry. It's difficult to not get all bashful about the words and withdraw them to someplace private so only YOU can caress and love them. Poetry is personal, mostly, a flutter of heart or a drop of soul.
Unless you're Ogden Nash, of course.
I was introduced to O-Nash (his hip-hop name, yo) in the fourth grade by my friend Kathy Oggins. Kathy knew "stuff", I thought she was fascinating. She could recite verse like a pro, and shared my love of all things Laura Ingalls Wilder. So, naturally, I become an O-Nash fan as well.
My favorite childhood Nash-ism was this:
The cow is of the bovine ilk
One end is moo, the other milk.
(As a kid I thought this was HILARIOUS! What an odd child I must have been......)
My favorite "mature" Nash-ism is this:
What's the use?
Sure, deck your limbs in pants.
Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance,
Have you seen yourself retreating?
(hehheheh......well played, O-man)
So, if I ever do poetry seriously, I'm going at it O-Nash style, to save myself the anxiety of having to suffer for the art. I'm just not big on the suffering, you know??
Feel free to offer up your thoughts on poetry or poets in the comments. Also, it's open season on mockery of my poem, so have at it!