I've been reading poetry written by serious poets, and have appreciated them so much, I've even thought of becoming a serious poet myself. However, if any of you have read one or more of the 18 "unfittie" chapters in the first part of my blog, you'll see serious is not the real me.
For several weeks, I've mostly been posting photos from our August holiday in Russia with Viking River Cruises, and only once, following a horrendous disaster in a city we'd just visited, have I said anything serious.
In between, I've been posting to writing memes in the hope they'll help me get my humorous-essay writing style (see chapters aforementioned) back on track before the end of this century.
Please bear with me, fellow writers, and also followers of my blog. Right now, if I sit down with myself and think, "Let's write a poem!" most of what ends up on my piece of scratch paper or on my computer screen is doggerel. Do not, for instance, take the following poem as being in any way indicative of my opinion of the people of Russia, where we were met with gracious charm.
Posted for Kerry's
Calling all Toads at
Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
Kerry has asked us to share a poem which explores a social or humanist theme — I'm afraid I've stretched the definition to its outer limit, but until my doggerel phase is over (and I hope it's soon), here we are...
we flew to russia one august day—
it took a long time, it’s so far away.
we found it’s true: it’s just like they said:
people in russia are no longer red!
in fact, we found out, in less than a blink,
whatever you think, they aren’t even pink!
entrepreneurs, all over the place,
are what’s become of the old russian race.
look where you like, in each garden plot,
there isn’t a communist, not in the lot.
free enterprise and also free trade—
with rubles and dollars both to be made!
selling and buying and having such fun,
it felt like the lotto just had been won,
but nobody warned them—it is no joke,
what happens when free enterprisers go broke.