Why a Sonnet About the Poetry of the Pitter Patter of Little Feet?
Not the Look of a Writer
How sweet the sound of early morning feet
Upon what floor are they so neat to greet
A boy makes the morning come alive again
Will this day his call be find us the gain
What child is this that wins our heart and hearth
Pray Lord you give us such love completed
I am your right side and well seated
Will you slay my ugly beast inside me
Do you care if I am that ugly beast
That boy in my home is far from least
Is it “so be it” that we don’t control it
We have no influence not a one bit
Give no heaven on my accord but his
You have spoken and love just you that is
If I Were A Simple Man
A Brother's Gift
I Am Living Still
Be critical I am having some issues with pentámetro yámbico or in English i·am·bic pen·tam·e·ter.
Seems like rhyming is less than important. But I rhyme. Heck my son and his mom like that better.
So I have been reading up on this style of poetry but I have to do it a bunch more to feel it right. I write it and then try to make it fit the custom/style maybe that is not so good. I have so many poet friends I am sure that if you are frank with me I can do better.
The pitter patter of footsteps is real. My wife and son get up and for each I hear their little footsteps. Mom is 98 lbs soaking wet and the boy is now 85 lbs totally dry on my scale. Hmm, he steals our socks though he has 994 of his own. I am glad they do not wear them at night or I could not discern who is up and at it in the morn.
Isn’t poetry so much fun? For me it is still sometimes a challenge though I can write just natural rhymes ok.
Sometimes I wonder if life is a poem. Certainly poetic when you love things like children and nature. Prose has me confused as well. I think a meadow filled by beautiful wild daisies is prose, but the leaves in a tree with a gentle wind is poetry. A mountain brook rhymes without reason. A child sleeping in fantastic slumber I think a song maybe. And what of the Psalms? How cool are they. The Dalai Lama seems to speak in prose. Are parables a type of poetry?
My son showed me once about a beat for night clubs for dancing in the background yet as a he writes his music it is not there – I think just poetry. He just does it naturally. Leader in a rock and roll band. Could it be genetic? Not likely I figure.
Nature verses nurture may actually be factors though I do not know. Sometimes I wonder if fitting poetry into a specific pattern is poetry at all. Seems like an antithesis to me. Kind of like an oxymoron if you get my drift.
Poetry In Motion
Maybe a Writer is Just a Desperado Waiting
Maybe Most Should Not Be Happy Like Me
So what of this thing called poetry? We watched a show just last night about the Cat in the Hat. Doctor Seuss had his own poetry I reckon. He lived just up the block from my one/won time office in La Jolla CA. Ocean waves have a beat. I do not know if it is poetry.
My elder son and I were on an epic journey in a run down motorhome. (a tale to tell) So we broke down on the shoulder of the fast lane. No way to pull out into seventy mile an hour traffic. But my son started doing a beat out loud. He said it was like waves he surfed on. And he would count the seconds between the flow of traffic. I got into it. Boom boom boom boom boom and so on. We got the engine up and running and then did our boom boom boom and got out between flows. San Jose way. Poetry for sure and maybe a Psalm in there?
For many moons I have declared that I “can’t” write poetry but now it seems that was cant. Perhaps I looked down on poetry. But maybe that was being sanctimonious with me? Did I really think that I was better than poetry with all its rules? In the box or outside of the box. What I write for a living is by strict rules yet I eschewed them in creative writing
Could it be that others can learn from me. Do not ever say the a word like maybe. Never say the word I can’t and mean it. Say the word and I can albeit. Slave away at your masters chore. But never ever leave or regret what you adore. My children teach me every single day. To try your best even to your dismay. Light it up with a thousand candle. Never will it be more than you can handle. Break and you down for in that joy be found. A million cries for a day allows us to dismay. But do not ever ever forget this wonderful day.
And so inside each precious moment I kind of find some solace here and there. What a great world our Lord has given us. To precious to waste on I can’t. Step up. Cook a meal that you simply do not think you can. Hug a homeless like a fellow man. Oh the stink and grossness fades away so quickly as the love overwhelms any negative.
Thank you for reading my happy poemetry. I know it has not summitry.