“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


ain't no way to get this right. without pictures.

sometimes i think to be a poet
i should remove that flower from up there at the top of this page
take away. erase it. photoshop. begone. scat.
adios little blue blossom of my heart
cause ain't no real nobody gonna take me seriously
with that little girl hope up there
like paintin' with pretty colors across a torn canvas
makes no sense. makes no art.  makes no nothing
but people rollin' they eyes at who do she think she is
all small magic and imperfections
and snickerin' behind their hands while shootin' each other
looks i know all too well.
i live in this town where art don't dwell
not for long anyway, and seldom,
and i know those looks of who do she think she foolin'
with those words and talkin' 'bout flowers on the ground
like that be poetry or even anything
and shit, they say, we don't even know this wrong side of the tracks
magic nonsense girl, and it mean she don't exist if we say so,
she just writin' for nothin'
that's the way you do it
and damn sure her art ain't nothin', we know art and this ain't it
them guys ain't dumb
and double damn sure she ain't no poet cause, excuse me, where be the rhymes?
maybe get a blister on your little finger
and they snicker again
and then i think i need more flowers at the top of the page
maybe get a blister on your thumb
cause they ain't gonna take me seriously unless i got a bluebonnet or 2
on the page
and i am caught in the middle of a place called what? and nowhere
always sayin' all the wrong stuff
i shoulda learned to play the guitar
too serious or too silly and no way i fit in
i shoulda learned to play them drums
and so the flower stays cause what the hell
and why not and screw it
and i will talk about the cardinals singing the morning awake if i want to.
that ain't workin'
that's the way you do it.


day 6 of NaPoWriMo, national poetry writing month.
a poem a day.

words in italics:
money for nothing: dire straits.  written by mark knopfler & sting


  1. I like the little blue flower. Its a symbol of HOPE. Isn't that what we all need?

  2. Hope floats. Or sings away the rain at least!

  3. whichever way you decorate it, you be a poet.

    all those critics, both inner and outer, are just yo yo's...

    i love the way you did this.

    and i am still laughing at michael's comment!

  4. Puzzled? Why do you live there if they don't appreciate you and your art? Whether the blue flower stays or goes you are who you are and the you you are is a poet and an artist. Savor it, treasure it, embrace it.

  5. she ain't no poet cause, excuse me, where be the rhymes?
    ...i believe that is why poetry never held any interest for me
    in literture class so many years ago. it rhymed. your words
    capture me each and every day. without rhyme.
    in fondest..tilda

  6. You and your boot pictures and blue flower and cat/ cat/ cat and bare feetsies every which way
    Talkin' 'bout the moon and anxious heart, curious heart, strong heart in the face of any
    ole thing
    That's the way ya do it.
    I ain't dumb.

  7. Awesome post! You described self-doubt perfectly. (I hope you don't believe it, though. You have a book in you waiting to come out onto paper and then onto Amazon.)


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