Friday, January 11, 2013
In which I am forced to commune with nature in a foot of snow and write a bad poem about it
I am taking creative writing, which is great. I have been dying to take creative writing since I returned to college. However, I became less excited about it when I was told to go out into the woods and be still with nature and write a poem about it.
I like to think my teacher did not anticipate the discomfort of sitting in snow in the winter when she crafted this assignment; I assume it was a more temperate day or she lives in Florida, or something rational. Or perhaps she's mean, I'm not sure yet; it is only the second day of class.
But, I am committed to my writing so I took a plastic Wal-Mart folding chair into the snow and sat in it. My bum was a mere inch above the snow, but luckily, it wasn't an aggressive-chair-climbing-bum-attacking kind of snow. the snow stayed right were it was, one inch below my posterior.
I looked at snow and thought poetic thoughts. I looked very closely at the snow. I noted how the sparkle was burning my retinas. I wrote poetic thoughts:
I brought to the woods, a folding chair
because the snow was deep.
I looked up, and what was looking right back at me? A deer? No. A rabbit/skunk/squirrel/chipmunk/bear? None of those, either. It was a trail cam. You know, one of those things hunters and nature enthusiasts put in the woods to take pictures of wildlife. Great, I went to the woods to be alone, and now I can't even wipe my nose on my sleeve without someone watching. Not that I would ever do that, obviously.
I looked down. Inside my footprints were lots of specks. I would venture a disproportionate number of brown specks in white footprints in the middle of nowhere. I looked at my boots. They did not appear muddy. I suddenly remembered someone once said something about snow fleas, or was it snow lice? I put my head down to investigate, but seeing as I didn't know if they were actual bugs or not, I didn't know if they jumped. I decided not to look to closely.
I tried again to think poetically.
I brought to the woods a folding chair
because the snow was deep
the animals were hibernating
the bears were all asleep
from a branch the snow did fall
my poem sucks giant donkey balls.
I gave up and spent the rest of the day at a snow bonfire drinking adult beverages and making tiny snow men because I was feeling creative but too lazy to get up and make a big one.
I actually spent several days working on my bad snow poem trying to make it better, and I think I finally did. I think it is probably the longest I ever worked on a poem, particularly one I did not care anything about.
No, you voyeurs, I'm not printing my finished poem here, unless you comment a lot and request me to, because then you could secretly ridicule my poem in your heads but I would get page views out of it, and page views stroke my ego and make me feel warm and fuzzy, so it would balance out.