Reading some of my favorite bloggers, none of whom you could call "professional" (With the possible exception of Ms C), I despair of ever being able to claim to belong in their esteemed company. It sadly reminds of my karaoke days, when despite wild applause, the look in my honest wife's eyes told me people were being incredibly polite for my sake. Yes, with enough over-dubbing and the right song, I CAN pull off a few miracles, but no, I would not make it past the initial audition of American Idol.
Now, I am beginning to wonder about another little thing I enjoy so very much that it would be another blow to my ego to discover I was again fooling myself. I love to write romantic prose. I used a bit of it on my wife during our courtship, but as soon as the "I do's" were said I suppose my poems got old fast.
People sing in the shower for a very good reason. There's only the soap-on-the-rope and maybe the loofa to judge you, and you can do no wrong. I never understood why we hear in our heads the sounds that convince so many of us we can carry a tune when sadly, we can't. At least in my case, when I play back a recording of my efforts, THEN I hear what I think is the cold hard sonic truth and I cease accordingly when necessary. When I hear one shred of musical hope, I persevere, but I don't get stupid about it. I am not, primarily at least, a singer. Life sucks, so sing in the shower and be happy.
I want to be brave here and throw something at you. This is not "romantic" prose but it does evoke emotion, at least I think it does. Try and feel the cadence, the emotion, the content as best you can and see how it feels to you. If it sucks, be a friend and say so. If it moves you, but does not bear repeating, I can live with that to. If it seems like I really have a talent for this sort of thing, even if only a little bit, that would exceed my expectations. Just be honest. Not BRUTALLY honest, now, but honest nonetheless. Here goes.........
I embrace thee all
for I am Divinity
not the god you bend to or despair of
not the omnipotent friend out to lunch
you need no appointment to know my truth
for it was always within you
as it is in me
I know I blaspheme
If one were to steal your thunder
I am sure the tantrum would be as nasty
but I have no fear
for what I know allowed me MY me
This world suffers so much
of you and me and all who came before
and might not survive the coming horde
so in this meantime
this sad time of wars and dry winds and deserts spreading
think of what I gave your parents
what they tried to hand to you
with expectations and questionable achievements
horse power instead of horses
mach five instead of Bach
ethanol instead of sunshine
the worship of masochistic gods
I embrace thee all
even as you kill me
My name is Michael, and this is MY poem.
I'm still pooped from this weekend
6 hours ago