I have a love-hate relationship with poetry, including my own. Too much of it is contrived, precious, melodramatic, and affected. This one, though, makes me laugh, and maybe cements my claim to being the only person who’s written a poetic ode to roadkill in sonnet form.
Villanelle the Vote! The lady holds her torch aloft, warm welcome beacon to us all. Her steady message, one of peace, within a world that’s gone berserk, But whispers, “Use your right to vote, lest our democracy should fall.” Some cower in the shadowed corners; others rise in sunlight’s thrall Where hope, ideals, and wisdom […]
I thought, not for the first time today, that I need a little sand and sun. It’s been too long since I went parasailing, upside down, while watching dolphins play ping-pong with a shark. Or since I floated, laughing, unable to sink, in the warm salty water near Miami, smooth as glass and clear enough to see my toes squishing in the sand. And as I re-read the question, I thought, How can I not write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? But what came out, like a tiny hermit crab from a tiny painted shell, wanted to be poetry, not paragraphs.