To the Nines
Neither grandmother wore red–
nothing — not even a brooch.
That is good enough testimony
(although I buried one of their daughters
in a bright red shift
never worn in life:
it was only until her real Robe
and we both wouldn’t mind
if it confounded that smooth
(There ye go; don’t tell such as me that you can’t write poetry or prose!)
To me, verse is a shortcut to the heart of some deeply human matter. If it can make another human sigh, moan, and/or laugh… it should. Period.
Of the friends who’ve shared their poetry with me, 4 were males. All 4 were quite sure of themselves poem-wise.
One was a priest-abbot whose religion books I *proofed* as if it had been needed; one was an author of fiction and essays and I’m still waiting for his poetry book out here; one was a more-daughter’s-friend in his 20s; the last was a (different!) more-daughter’s-friend in his 40s.
The two youngsters are prolific composers of verse. Both are often dismal and long-winded (because that’s much easier!), but the writing saves/shares their hearts — and bread is bread!
Absolutely no female friends have offered to share their poetry with me, nor even the admission that they compose it from time to time. I’d better start asking around!
The closest it came was when possibly-Aspie granddaughter was published by her school in a state anthology. Whereas it IS published, I shouldn’t share that poem of hers here, but suffice it to say this is the one who paints her origami cranes; the poem is most beautiful.
Last but not least:
Here is a link for tomorrow. You don’t even have to dare publish your own! It can be any poem. Whether you have something, or simply like something a lot, let’s see it!..