I used to write a lot of poems; I don't, anymore. There was a time I wrote a poem almost every day and sent each one out to a list of folks who wanted to be included on my "poem list". Many times I'd sit down at the keyboard without any idea what I was going to write about, and sometimes those turned into some of my best poems.
Every once in awhile, I'll meet up with someone at church or while shopping (or even on the Internet) who will ask if I'm still writing poems (or songs). I tell them no, and they seem disappointed.
Until now, I had not stopped to think about why I stopped writing my poems. Today I only had to think about it for five minutes before I realized what happened:
Blogging took the place of my poems. It's so much easier, not having to figure out a way to say something and make it rhyme.
Oh yes, my poems do rhyme. I never was a fan of free verse. I like the old nursery rhyme rhythms, the lyrics of the old standard songs, the words of songs in the church hymnals, the honky-tonk songs from the seventies: my very heart beats in time with such words.
I'm the first to admit that a large percentage of the poems I wrote were mediocre at best, and some of them were just plain awful. And yet, sometimes I'll look through a box of typed-off poems I wrote years ago, find one I don't even remember writing and think to myself, "Wow, that's pretty good!"
But for the time being, blogging satisfies me. The only thing I really miss about the poems is that I could put more personal feelings into the rhymes and disguise the facts slightly; although the readers might sense my unrest or dissatisfaction, they couldn't figure out exactly what it was (or who) I was talking about. In this blog, I share nothing personal.
Perhaps you thought my discussing UTI's or breast reduction was about as personal as it gets, but no. Those are simply discussions about this aging body. It's my opinions about others that I try to hold in. I try very hard not to talk negatively about neighbors. That's getting easier, since both of our next-door neighbors deserted their homes.
When we had the renters living in the old trailer that's gone, it was really hard not to rant about some of their craziness: We rented a place to four people and ended up with eight living there half the time; that's a problem because there's an old, tired pump supplying water to all residences on this place, and a crowd like that really puts a strain on it. Of course, we'd be the ones footing the bill for a new pump, so I suppose it didn't matter to anybody else, although if they had been without water for a few days, I'm sure they would have hollered. We agreed to let the renters have one dog, and next thing you know there were two.
I've learned that's the way it goes with renters. Give them an inch, they'll take a mile, without even a thank you.
Perhaps I should start writing just enough poems to get the taboo subjects off my chest. But I think I've gotten too lazy to put forth that much effort.