I know, I know. We've only been at this for a few days and already a soul-bearing, Oprah-worthy confession?
Well, it may not be worthy of The Other Big O but I should come clean about my intentions regarding
I'm not an academician, a poet or a literary guru of any stripe.
What I am is a frustrated Word person. I love Words, as evidenced by the unnecessary capitalization of the word, Word.
I love to read them, write them and play games with them. I believe Words With Friends is the single greatest technological contribution to benefit, if not advancement, of mankind since gun powder...or Doritos.
So the primary, selfish purpose of this blog is to force me to write. I am not controlled enough to journal regularly, but what I lack in discipline I make up for in guilt. If I know someone, anyone (Fabs? Amy?) is reading the blog I will feel obligated to write/journal/create. Practice follows obligation and perhaps improvement follows practice.
The other purpose is to spread the gospel about poetry. I swear on my beaten-to-crap copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends, poetry can seriously improve your quality of life.
So here is another lovely, pragmatic poem for you.
Oh, go on and read it - it's about bubble wrap.
Who doesn't love bubble wrap?
Cheap Therapy - Geoff Weilert
When a package arrives I quickly open it wide
And hastily remove all the stuff found inside.
I discard all items except the plastic wrapped
That piece with bubbles in which air is trapped
I spread the sheet and look downward with glee.
And with two fingers, I pop one, two, then three.
I feel quite content and my face gets a glow
I pop some more and move on to the next row.
I'm feeling so good I can't think of stopping
As the room fills with the sounds of popping.
Every worry and care and each little trouble
Floats away with the pop of each air bubble.
When I finally reach the end I feel quite mellow
All that popping has made me a contented fellow.
If you are like me, and contentment is a rarity,
Get some bubble wrap; It's cheaper than therapy.