A friend from high school who was the victim of a great deal of my adolescent poetry found me on Facebook recently after years of noncommunication. When she reminded me of the poems and I reflexively (and digitally) shuddered, she (digitally) tsk-tsked me for being ashamed of my adolescent work. Fair enough. While I'm correct that it was often Very Bad Poetry, she's also correct that it was Very Important to Me at the time. I think this is a fairly common thing.
Perhaps one of my other adolescent obsessions, Edward Abbey, was correct: "Poetry--even bad poetry--may be our final hope."
No poem this week. I tried once again to read Gerard Manley Hopkins, a poet who I have for years thought I should like (no idea where I got this notion). It didn't go so well.