Wednesday, January 2, 2013

My Favorite Things Part 1

Since Oprah made "My Favorite Things" a household phrase, I thought I would take stock of my personal favorites from 2012 . . . scrolling back through the one million words I produced last year to locate the best of the best.  A closer look at all of my poetry, for example, shows that I wrote over 250 poems last year (but I have no idea how to assess this output . . . I just wrote 'em).

I did have a dozen or so published in various magazines or journals, however . . . and among the works-in-print, my personal favorite was a poem entitled, "Odysseus, Retired", which was picked up by The Lyric.  (Thanks as always, Jean & Nancy.)

I also kept a 2012 "Poetic Journal", where I produced most of my poetry, and where I also attempted to write a poem a day (but did not achieve this).  Reading back through the journal to discover the gems, however, I did find a few that stood out.  Most of these could be categorized as "love" or "romantic" poems, I suppose (though God-knows Becky reads only a smattering of them and most that are read are stuffed into the trash in the interest of ecology).  But I also note that I produced good poems about cancer (with more slated for publication in 2013), as well as some humorous poems (my "Uber-Goober" blog poem being a favorite here), and a few standup sonnets.

Finally, I discovered this flower among the weeds . . . a nice piece of Light Verse that is good enough to be published somewhere.  But I'll offer it as my favorite unpublished poem of 2012.

Old Golfers

They swing in spasm of half-arc
Through firm, arthritic hips,
Peripheral, wide-of-the-mark,
And par by nine iron chips.

Their bags are light as scrotums hang
Through slacks of sansabelt,
And half their drives--a boomerang--
Return to leave a welt.

Deliberate, they pad the grass
Through careful steps of tweed,
Putting on greens rolled smooth as glass
Through breaks they cannot read.

But each is paring out for pride
Though double-bogeys reign,
And every Titleist hooked wide
Induces sudden pain.

But at the clubhouse, rolling in,
They settle up their bets,
Each sucking at their oxygen
And scoring no regrets.



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