poetry

As a child, I wrote poetry. I'm not sure why. In retrospect, some of the stuff I wrote could be construed as poetry, even though it was not intended that way. That's partly my parents fault. In preschool, I used to love hammering wood together with nails. My parents couldn't accept that maybe I had a great aptitude to become a carpenter. My wood creations became "artworks." Just like the words I wrote in a thin marble notebook became "poetry." It might not have been any more than some well-spaced scratchy words that I thought of as stories about how Min loved Mon. I think I was Min and Mon was that girl with curly hair who sat next to me who had her jaw wired shut for 6 weeks that spring. Or how a bear put a bucket over its head and then went to the grocery store. In fact, that one got published in a book which might still live in my elementary school library. But it was poetry, and no less than the high art of a 6-year old.

Later, in 5th grade, I actually did write a rather substantial volume (maybe 10 pages) of cheesy rhyming poetry. In one of them, the words were in the shape of a christmas tree. I think another was just some sort of a list. We published them into a book, which was called "Circles, Squares, and Many More." Seriously. I don't think I could make something up like that. I'm not sure why I didn't continue down this path. I might have discovered that not all poetry needs rhyme. I might have figured out how to use language to evoke emotions that can't be reproduced be merely poking someone with a stick. Either way, maybe I would not be reserving my main literary output for blogs and emails.