I have a box. Both virtual and hidden somewhere in my room. The box is filled with old pieces of paper, notebooks, and scrap clippings from magazines. Each bit of paper has something written on it, usually an idea for a story or a poem. Sometimes it is a piece of work I plan to come back to later when I’m running low on inspiration. Occasionally, I will hide full pieces of work, maybe because I dislike it or know it could be improved.
Despite the fact I’ve often put things in this box because I don’t like them, when I go back through the contents, it can bring me untold joy. This might seem strange, but even if I think the work is bad, I know in the moment I wrote it something had inspired me and even though I grew to dislike it, it’s an idea with potential. Sometimes I even wrote things ironically or in the spur of the moment, these pieces usually lead to some kind of memory that leads to laughter.
This evening, I was struggling with my inspiration so I headed to my box. The first thing I pulled out was a series of poems I wrote in my first year of university. Now, it has to be said that I am 100% NOT a poet, but there is something about the cheesy rhyming lines I spewed out of my brain in an attempted to pass the class. (58% if you had any doubt in the extraordinary talents you are about to be exposed to hahaha) I knew at the time that my words were silly but they evoked brilliant memories of meeting some of my now closest friends for the first time.
Our poetry tutor actively disliked “purple poetry” which, if you don’t know, is poetry filled with sweetest, fantasy, and lots and lots of adjectives. He seemed much more taken by more brutal, reality pieces, occasionally dealing with subjects such as drink or drugs.
The poem I am about to show you takes place during one of our classes where my friends and I were giggling with a sense of “invincible-first-year-fever”. We decided to write very purple poems we knew our tutor wouldn’t be keen on, and then try and make him like it by adding something…more his taste at the end.
So! Without further ado, please prepare to be “amazed” by my poetry brilliance!
There is my imaginary garden
There is snow,
in my garden down below.
It’s white as paper and never melts,
I’m surrounded by trees dusted in sugar!
There is a lamppost,
tall and elegant – if I may boast.
It glitters like gold, it touches the sky,
lighting our way to the stars up there above!
There is a movement!
And the rules of realism have been bent
as centaurs appear to dance around the post
while the squirrels and beavers watch from the edge.
There is staring… still… straight ahead…
“This is our happy place!” we all said.
The pills are wearing off now.
Am I dead?
I hope you enjoyed that, please do tell me what you think. Is it your kind of poem? Do you completely hate it? Am I an awful, awful student or a hilariously brilliant one? Let me know in the comments below so that I have another reason to come back and have a laugh at my fabulous poetry skills, because honestly, that’s all I’ve been doing all evening!