I recently read a wonderful article in Utne, titled "Who's Afraid of Poetry?". Basically it was about how we, citizens of the US, are poemophobic. Poems are either old, long and boring and stuffed with words like "o'er, thee, whilst" and other words that while we know what they mean, they are far removed from every day language and present a barrier to our relationship with poetry; or they are modern, with phrases that don't make any logical sense or even (gasp) rhyme! It is as if these poems are written for people of long ago or for a secret "poetic society" that holds the key to deciphering their meanings. But this just isn't so.

The magic of poetry is that it doesn't have to follow the rules. If it did, it would be prose. Instead, poetry gets to play around with words and punctuation; sometimes the words don't mean anything, it's just the sound of the words that is important. It may be the hard crack of several K's, or the slippery feel of multiple S's. Sometimes it is the flow of the syllables, their unique rhythm, that the author wants you to feel on your tongue. Read it out loud. Play around with it.

In the spirit of poetic understanding, I have decided to start sharing some of my favorite poems. (This is also due to the fact that my life is pretty boring and I have not much else to post.) The poem below is nothing tricky. Just a clever little poem that was at the back of one of my magazines. I encourage everyone to take some time work some poetry into your literary diet.

by Eric Anderson

It's hard to hit a man with something so small;
it doesn't seem fair. I'm trying
to make a better bullet. First of all,

I've made them bigger, the size of fists,
which is also the size of the human heart.
The bullet should be as big as the target,

which is why I'm making even bigger bullets,
the size of coffins, and during their flight
the bullets spring open, so they can

swallow a man whole. Just in case I miss,
I've put attractions in the bullets to lure
the targets inside: widescreen televisions,

free T-shirts, four star meals, football stadiums.
Don't ask how, the process is complicated,
and patented. I'm going to be rich.

I've put windows in my bullets so I can
make sure I don't hit the wrong people;
I hate to miss. I'm working on bullets

the size of neighborhoods
and cities, continents; I'll have a bullet
as big as the world by the end of the year.

The gun, however, remains problematic.

I'm going to need help with the carrying
and the aiming, if you're interested. We can
kill everybody, everywhere.

You Belong in Amsterdam

A little old fashioned, a little modern - you're the best of both worlds. And so is Amsterdam. Whether you want to be a squatter graffiti artist or a great novelist, Amsterdam has all that you want in Europe (in one small city).

Ha ha! I do love Amsterdam.....I'd want to live in the Beethoven Hotel...that place rocked! And maybe if I lived there I'd have enough time to wait in line at the Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank House.