So possibly not the most accurate title, because the poem I am going to show you isn’t my first poem. My first poem went something like this:
Where are you jumping to?
Are you a tame one? Do you have lots of fun?
I bet you do! I wish I were a kangaroo!
I was probably about six.
But that isn’t the poem this post is about, no, the poem I want to share with you I wrote when I was about 12. It is what I consider my first good poem. In fact this poem was even published! I entered this poem in a competition and a few weeks later they sent me a prestigious looking parcel announcing proudly, “you’ve won!” Boy was I excited.
And of course they wanted to publish my poem! In a book with about 200 other people who, I presume, had also been conned into handing over $25 for the privilege of being published, in a book that was only sold to the people whose poems where published in it.
I pretty soon discovered that it was a scam. I think the fog of glory started to clear when I received the book. Its corny name was ‘Collected Whispers’, which I disliked immediately. My poem just happened to be the first one in the book, an honour bestowed on everyone in the book I dare say. I still don’t like looking at the book because it reminds me how easily I was tricked. In fact from looking at some of the other poems in the book I’d say that they didn’t even read the poems.
Anyway, all that is just a side story for my first poem. The best poem that I had written so far. The poem that made me see how awesome it could be to get words to fall into place and made me want to do it again. This poem was written in 2008 when I was 12. It probably wasn’t the best poem, but at the time it was my best poem.
The waterless clouds fill the sky,
A lonely dog strolls by.
Some weak plants struggle to grow,
And hungry cattle are not more than a stones throw
The wind blows around like a wild thing,
And seeps in the cracks, our faces to sting.
Can’t get to sleep because of the thunder,
And we all wonder,
– will it ever rain?
Then as the first few drops start to fall,
We all go out and dance like it’s a ball.
This is the perfect end to my day,
And what more can I say?
– This is my home.
There’s always a first, and this was the first poem when I took a pen and paper and just let the poem come out. Not all poems are that easy. Most poems you have to wrench out of the paper by brute force. But not this one.
After writing this poem I considered myself a poet, but one poem does not the poet make. If we disregard my previous kangaroo poem, I had written exactly one poem that I thought was good. And the dictionary definition for poet is; a person who writes poems. Poems. So I did. I wrote poems. None of them have ever been published again, but the dictionary doesn’t list that as a requirement to be a poet. Therefore, I am a poet. You could be a poet. Practically anyone could be a poet. And you know what? I think that’s pretty cool.