Is it my genetic makeup, some mental deficiency or just a
total lack of interest in the written word that contributes to my inability to
read and write?
I’m not sure…but I do have the report cards to prove that I
am basically illiterate.
Spelling, punctuation and simple sentence structure are overwhelming
challenges. It seemed that there are
just too many rules and each rule has exceptions…not to mention the exceptions
to the exception.
I’ve spent a lifetime of avoiding putting pen to paper…but as
of late I have become interested in leaving a sort of breadcrumb trail of my
journey through the forest of life.
With the advent of the computer, spell and grammar check…I can almost
pass as literate.
I find it strange that my interest has turned to writing…even
stranger…writing poems.
Maybe because verse tends to fly in the face of the stiff
and stilted system espoused to by the old maid English teachers of my youth.
Poems and verses seem to ignore the trite and hackneyed
prohibitions against dangling participles, pluperfect verbs and proper
pronouns.
I am attracted by the fact that the rhythm of the rhyme
seems to be more feeling than function, more cadence than correctness, and more
passion than prescription.
Although my doggerel is more of a dirge like drone of awful
alliterations, hubris humor or some lame limerick…yet…to me, it holds a strange
fascination.
I suppose it is ridiculous to think my rudimentary rhymes
could ever be elevated to the status of poetry.
It’s quite the trick/ a limerick
For it takes time/ to make a rhyme
I want proper grammar/ but stumble and stammer
It’s almost a crime/ such clatter and clamor.
But what comes forth/ is not mine of course
It a gift from above/ that I’ve learned to love
So all I can do/ is point to you
You are the one/ everything comes from.
I owe my thanks/ to the one who ranks
To my Lord and God/ I give You the nod
So Thanks again/ my best friend
You’ve made it clear/ there’s nothing to fear.
Amen.