Oh the relief, the joy of home and V+ and a remote controller that works. My niece is 18 – so a poem was the sine qua non.
A story goes with it (as Damon Runyon said in his tales of racetrack hustlers trying to scratch the price of their next bet).
I showed my whistling for wind ode about stillness (Becalmed) to my niece last Saturday. When I looked for a reaction, her face betrayed no clues, so I asked what she thought of it. “It’s just words on a page” she said. That tickled me. I had got so worked up about the prospect of appearing in print, I had lost touch with reality. Of course, that’s all they are until you are ready for them. I felt much the same at her age about all poetry.
The poem or ode was dashed off in Clements cafe and written into the birthday card. I will feel called upon to recite those few considered words when we call round. It’s all in the performance my dear.
That’s enough waffle for now – there’s tons out there and you can dig a whole mountain of verbiage without really trying. Obviously, my verbiage is of a superior quality and should be treasured by all befuddled lovers of dross everywhere.
odespinner 