Thursday, October 27, 2011

Poetry Friday: Let your babies grow to be poets

Elsewhere I might have mentioned this poem by my daughter, but she had the original and definitive fair copy pictured here. When she was three, she thought writing poetry was just a thing people did, like drawing or typing or jumping in dumpsters. Thinking this didn't do her any harm.

It may have been an advantage when she got to University. The drawings below are from papers she did while in Texts and Critics when she was seventeen.*
Roger owned six sacred objects on which he enjoyed sucking.
(Six, from an illustrated book of numbers.**)
Meg was disturbed to find 12 fractals in her medicine cabinet.
(Twelve, from an illustrated book of numbers.)
Desmond dreamt his house burned down. 
When he woke, love was not his own.
(D from an Abecedary***)
Hermione, the small white dog, with an affinity for cherry cordials,
 knew the importance of home.
(H from an Abecedary)
Oedipus feared he would never read again.
(O from an Abecedary.)

Unfortunately not everyone had an umbrella.
(U from an abecedary.)
* Hey kids, you want a cheap, good education? Check out the nearest Cow College.
** She allows that she was influenced by Gorey. It is a really good thing to be influenced by Gorey, I think.
*** Despite an aptitude for alphabetical sorting, I cannot get her to be an indexer.  Right now she says she should have business cards that read:
"Poopy pants manager and household appliance savant"

So, I'm in a plane, maybe, over the South Pacific, but I really wanted to be part of Poetry Friday this week, because being with my daughter and her children reminds me that poetry is just a part of life--like poopy diapers and rainy days and love.

Today, Poetry Friday is hosted by Diane Mayr at Random Noodling

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