Except for Poetry

I’d like to think that, starting from my earliest childhood memories, I’ve done quite a bit of writing.

In the first grade, I remember being excited when I finally learned to spell ‘airplane.’ During the sixth grade, I filled a black composition notebook with “Ghost Stories: The Scary Adventures of Jacky and Friends.” Unfortunately, I used the word ‘erotic’ to describe the girl who had become my first crush. Ever since, my love life has continued to experience a few nicks here and there…

But, of course, that’s a story for another time.

By the end of middle school, I had kept various journals; some notepads contained only one or two short entries while a select few can tell you the daily weather conditions for entire years. When high school ended, I had caught a glimpse into journalism, creative writing, and every literary genre in-between.

Well, everything except for the art of poetry.

I guess my lack of aspiration to jot down poems comes mainly from my inability to comprehend celebrated works such as those of Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson. As much as you might admire their use of rhythm or imagery, I will become confused before the first line is read.

But, in hoping to develop my writing, I’d like to gain at least some experience in poetry. Thus, here’s a short piece I had written several days ago:

Ordinary
His tried eyes,
they asked God,
In such an ordinary day,
how can you find perfection?
And suddenly, he understood.

Let me know what you think and how you interpreted this poem. Also, if you enjoy writing your own verses, please do share them!