The first poem I wrote was as a sophomore in college. Totally depressed at the time, I had little purpose and wanted to be anyplace else on Earth, doing just about anything else. There was nothing amusing about my mood but maybe that is why I came to realize poetry as a muse. Inspiration comes from many places.

My English professor was also one of my best friend’s lover. That’s right. I had to face this man at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m. every Saturday morning. I wonder now if there wasn’t a correlation there, somewhere. My class had been tasked with writing a paper about ourselves because, to paraphrase, “…we were too inexperienced to write about anything else.”

Tortured, I handed in a paper that was rapidly returned with a note that I could do better, dig deeper. So I capitulated and tossed five pages of catharsis onto paper, double spaced and typed on a rickety old typewriter. Then, slurping a soda in the Rathskeller one afternoon, I started writing a poem about a tree. About me.

We’re one, this tree and I …

In the end, I drew that tree and handed in the drawing, the poem, and my revised paper as one. I will never forget his note: “I could have graded you on the drawing of the tree alone, as it is that revealing.” Damn. Then, to my surprise, he wrote: “Unlike other young poets, you did not sacrifice meaning for rhyme. A++”

A young poet? Me? Apparently not a proficient one as I’ve learned that poems only come to me every so often. Words fill my head, an idea blooms, and if I’m very lucky there will be a pen and paper nearby.

Poetry is personal

I refused to share my poems with anyone for a very long time. They were personal memories held tight and hidden. A near lifetime flew past and we moved to Florida where I became a member of a Creative Writing Club and then a Journalism Club. I’ve learned from those that I enjoy writing but am not goal driven.

Another couple of years later and a Florida friend drew me into a group called the Poetry Pals. We are not an official club-club. We just are a handful of women who enjoy hosting each other for a lunch and to share poetry. Usually the hostess picks a topic but any poems brought will do. One woman is a prolific, published poet; two of us write when the heavens move us; the others just enjoy the shared time, stories and poetry.

Somewhere in there, Rob encouraged me to publish two short stories online, through Smashwords.com so Maybelle and Mattie: Each with a story of her own to tell is available for free to the world. I don’t advertise that and rarely look to see if anyone is still reading them. By now they must be way-way-way down the list. It isn’t as easy to format poetry so those never got recorded.

Not too long ago, my husband and I were discussing blog and website development. Rob said I really should publish my poetry so it will be there when I’m not. Okay, maybe not that bluntly, but I got it. I surely cannot leave him with a binder of poems and the burden of not knowing what to do with it — with them. AMusingMarilyn will be my vehicle.

If you stumble across my poems and enjoy one or two, thank you for the compliment. Please feel free to share my words but remember that written words are copyrighted as they are written. Always give an author credit for her work, for her words. I share them like leaves floating into the ethos but they are my leaves and I really do not want to see them crumpled and distraught.

This sharing business will obviously take a leap of faith on my part.

I understand that cheating in schools pre-COVID19 had become rampant — the new norm. That bothers me because cheating only cheats the one who cheats. To plagiarize is bad enough as it admits defeat in your own strength to create, to accomplish. That is not a satisfying path to wander. To steal someone else’s work entirely is far more offensive. Taking someone else’s intellectual property and putting your own or anyone else’s name on it is mean and illegal.

~AMusing Marilyn