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06/20/2008 Entry: "Gina's Poetic MI-5"

Gina says: For this week's MI-5, let's do something different. Let's write a poem. About the person you should know the best. YOU !! I encourage you to take a moment or two to think about your responses. Reintroduce yourself, to yourself. Rediscover what makes you tick. And while I don't want to impose too many restrictions on this creative outlet, I would mention for those who post their responses to their blogs, leaving out the fine print written inside the parentheses will make your poem look and read better. So that's it. Everything else is fair game. Here's my entry.

I am a melancholy drummer.*
I wonder how my children will turn out.
I hear the sound of thunder.
I see not the big picture, the grand scheme.
I want more alone time with Susan.
I am a melancholy drummer.

I pretend to samba on the beach.**
I feel the warm sand under my feet.
I touch Susan's hair as we dance.
I worry we won't ever really make it to Barbados.
I cry when I visit my father's grave
I am a melancholy drummer.

I understand far too little, and I know I need more.
I say things in an unloving way far too many times.
I dream of dead girls in pink dresses***, and Tibetan monks disemboweling themselves****.
I try to do a good job, and set a good example.
I hope I can raise my children as well as my parents raised me.
I am a melancholy drummer.

*As an occasional writer of poems, I must say I found today's MI-5 really hard. I wanted so much to turn this into an actual, cohesive piece, but I couldn't answer honestly, and still have it all flow.

**Here's a good example of what I was trying to explain above. The first four lines seem like they might go somewhere, but I couldn't honestly make it fit with the "I cry" line. These four lines were inspired by Susan and me having a silly little dance in the playroom while listening to the Stan Getz/Joao Gilberto album. While we were dancing to the gentle clack of the bossa nova, our children were head-banging around us, running in a circle like a carousel of child rock stars.

***Dreaming of dead girls in pink dresses
****Tibetan monks pulling their guts out

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