Last week, I posted this story about giving myself permission to write bad poetry. I even shared some mediocre verses with you.
My best friend took the opportunity to quote lines from some of the most overwrought poems I composed as a teenager. Twenty-some years later, they were so terribly angsty that she can still remember. She even asked that I share one of them. “It’s been too long. Please!”
I told her that, if I got stuck with NaBloPoMoing, I would share the poem. Because I’m cocky, I figured I’d never have to follow through. I have twenty-one days in the bag plus five other posts planned. I’ll never need to use that poem.
Welcome to day 28. I’d like you to meet Blogger’s Block.
Since my best friend’s birthday is tomorrow and I’m running out of ideas for posts, I decided I should keep my promise and post the poem. Without further ado, here is “The Rocking Chair.”
Boldly it stood out in the fire
The autumn setting was cold and dire
The windblown smoke spewed o’er the lawn
Out of those flames the color of dawn
Sadly I stood in the falling rain
Though I was warned not to remain
I shed not a tear, for it wouldn’t put out
The roaring flames that shot about
A childhood memory turned to ashes
Amongst the orange and bright red flashes
To cry, I couldn’t, I didn’t dare
The day he burned my rocking chair.
Wow, that was painful to type. And I don’t mean because my hand hurts.
Happy Birthday, Heidi! Don’t mock me too much.