The poet in me

I have written poems since I was a teenager. They are not really very good. I doubt there is a drive to gather and publish them, but I write them nonetheless. While I enjoy writing them, my family usually just roll their eyes and shake their heads. I haven’t decided if it is because they are so truly awful or if it is just another weird thing that I do. Or both!

An interesting facet of poetry is your subject matter. You can write about something, an incident, or a feeling, and phrase it so that very few people know what you are talking about. Take Robert Frost’s well known poem, “The Road Not Taken.” I don’t know what inspired that, but I don’t need to in order to enjoy it.

I know we have been taught to read silently. Taught? It’s been drilled into our heads. Nevertheless, I believe poetry is best experienced when read aloud. It helps to know where the author put the emphasis, but you can get close by simply reading it aloud.

I am not able to sit down on command and pen a poem. It’s like an inspiration. Not in the classic biblical sense of God working in me, but a mood. Or something. I don’t know what to call it. I have times where I’m thinking in rhyme. Once that happens and I am working on a poem, for a while afterward I want to put everything in rhyme. I write it down and then work on it and improve it, but my point is, I can’t work it up. I will later work on the rhyming patterns and sometimes I am very concerned about the meter. So I do polish it (I know, if you have read any of my stuff, you may wonder what the rough cut looked like – ha!), but still, it's like it was birthed in me.

Take the other night as an example. Mary got up early and went to Augusta to see Mary K. When I woke up I called her to make sure she got there safely etc. and just for fun I asked her, “What am I gonna do for supper?” She laughed and told me she was sure I would figure something out. Well, I made a fire and while I was sitting by the fire, these verses kept coming to me. I finally decided to get up, get some paper and write them down. The poem is included below. As you can tell, I wasn’t too concerned with meter and I was having fun with the rhyming pattern. It is mostly ABCC, but I have one stanza with ABAB and another with ABBC! It’s just a fun, light-hearted poem based on that one recurring phrase, I have no woman to cook for me.

I enjoy it. They just come to me at times and it makes me feel better to write them down, and in an odd sort of way, it often helps me express things. Maybe I am simply the odd-ball my family thinks I am, but I enjoy writing these down. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, be sure to read it out loud!


I have no woman to cook for me.
Alas! What shall I do?
I hear my stomach bleat
and I know not what to eat.

My wife got up and went down south
to see my little girl,
but now it’s time to eat
and I’ve no one to cook my meat!

I called her up on the phone
and we each said “Hi”
“You’re gone, what will I eat?” said I
She laughed and said, “You won’t die.”

I was disconsolate, over-wrought,
And knew not what to do.
I went and made a fire and thought
“You’ve no woman to cook for you.”

As the flames leapt sky-ward
I was struck by a thought:
“No woman to cook for me??
Hot dogs on a stick. Yippee!”

Did they hit the spot?
Did they fill me up?
No. I’m still lean and mean,
Now on to cookies and ice cream.

I’ve no woman to cook for me,
Will I make it through the night?
Just how desperate is my plight?
I think I shall faint!

I write in jest, of course
I’ll figure something out
I’ve ice cream and a cookie
And lots of Pepsi Wild Cherry!