I want to be John Keats

There is something about Bruce Springsteen (apparently) that inspires me to write in my blog. It's probably not a trend, but just coincidental. Just something that I've noticed. Maybe, because his lyrics are so good, he makes me feel like I want to write something as well, and then it turns into something silly because I have a hard time writing seriously.

So I'm due for a post, even though I didn't know what I was going to write about before clicking 'new post.'

I want to be able to write really good poetry. I try every once in a while. In fact, I try all the time, but only sometimes do I write it down, and then much less often is it typed up. It is problematic to actually devote time to reading excellent poetry, and then think about sharing your own, because you have already been subjected to what you think is brilliant, beautiful, meaningful. When I look at my own piece it gives me that facial expression when you raise one eyebrow, lower one side of your lip, baring only that side of your teeth, and then delete all evidence of probably the worst bit of poetry ever written. I think it's because I'm not a suffering artist. If things were going really poorly for me, my poetry would improve by at least 146%.
Though I suppose there are some great "happy" poems out there...I'm going to pretend like that's not true.

I attempted some poetry today. I will force myself to share it because, let's be honest here, about 2 people tops will end up reading this blog. I wrote a bit, but I only ended up liking the first stanza, which has absolutely no technique, rhyme (ok, 2), meter, or formula of stresses. Here goes:

He is the text to my white-sheeted soul,
and gives my energy its potential.
I am titled.
My character and coffee stains have purpose
when accompanied by our story.
From our first conversation, he
turned to dialogue what was my diary.

Tada. I'm outtie.