Friday, April 12, 2013

A Great Poet and Me

Poet 1967
Poet 1967 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

His writing's quaint
  and almost prim,
But, hey! I ain't
  a bit like him!

You may have heard
  (it's not a joke)
I strangle words
  until they choke.

I squeeze their sides
  until they bleed.
I thrash their hides
  so you will read.

I make them cough
  or spit for you
And then sign off.
  That's what I do.

Do you see a man skillful in his work?
He will stand before kings;

he will not stand before obscure men. (Proverbs 22:29, ESV)

I don't claim to be a great poet...and no, the image isn't me. In 1967 I didn't think of myself as a poet...but, like this painting, I was young and emaciated and had brown hair.

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