This afternoon at work I was looking up bizarre holidays to put on the schedule for next week (I also actually WORK at my job, don't let this fool you). One of the gems I stumbled upon was "Bad Poetry Day" which brought me back to Mrs. Anderson's fourth grade class and the FIRST poem I ever wrote. At some point during that year our class went on a field trip to a nature reserve - if you've ever been to Iowa you can pretty much visualize what a field trip to the prairie would entail. Our assignment was to bring a notebook and pencil and find a place in the tall grass to sit quietly, observe our surroundings, and write a poem.
Although I don't remember the whole thing, I do remember the first half of my first poem:
As I sit on the prairie
Gazing up at the sky
I see a bird pass
And I feel as if I could fly!
But it's also so nice
With all the insects and birds
Who do their work busily
Without any words.
The poem goes on to talk about sunlight and tall grass and by the end I am waving good-bye from a fluffy white cloud. Oddly enough, that was the pivotal moment when I realized how thrilling (and fairly simple) it was to achieve rhythm with words. My nine-year old self was hooked. Cliche? Sure. But I grew up in Iowa, folks. You do the math.
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