so, at a recent meeting for the writer’s group i belong to, we got to talking about poetry (this is mainly because a poet showed up, whereas we normally have novelists, so it was, no bad pun intented, a novel thing for us). once upon a time, i was a total poetry junkie. i consumed every e.e. cummings poem i could get my hands on, plus other by tennyson, poe, dickinson, barrett browning, thomas, frost…well, you get the idea. i read a lot of poetry.
i also wrote a lot of it, being the angsty young adult i was. so today i thought i’d share one from way back, when i thought i was all deep and meaningful and as pretentious as only an eighteen year old could imagine themselves to be. but i do rather like the poem still, and i can still hear the music by the blue nile that i wrote it to.