I love writing and can’t stop making poems. It is a family affliction I think and I would term it: “Rhyming Couplet Disorder.” I simply can’t stop thinking them, saying them and writing them.
I discovered recently that my great-great grandfather Thomas Hill Watts (an Alabama Governor and the first Attorney General of the Confederacy) had the gene. A sweet Auburn friend of mine, Annie Martin Waters found a note that he had done. Lo and behold, it was a poem! (written on June 29th, 1864)
HERE IS AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF MINE:
THE WONDER OF IT ALL
My wife had wanted me to see,
The Columbus Live Poet Society.
She had some passes, someone had lent her
so off we were, to the River Center.
There were learned folks, from all around,
Including six “experts” from out of town.
There was not a whisper….nary….naught,
as the poets mused, in uffish thought.
“Our wonder hath wandered,” quoth a cryptic man,
A goateed Sage from Birmingham.
“After endless wonderment during misspent youth,
From wonder, we now remain aloof.”
His words rang true! Everything he said,
and set up fresh wondering, in my head.
In youth I’d spy a twinkling star,
And wonder aloud, “just what you are?”
Now with aches and gray hair flowing,
I wonder just, where I’m going.
I wonder too ‘bout the stars above,
I wonder who?, wrote the “Book of Love.”
I mourn the loss of Pepsodent,
And wonder where the yellow went.
Oh so much wondering in my head,
I’ve even wondered, ‘bout Wonder Bread.
And I guess it’d be, a social blunder,
Not to wonder, on Stevie Wonder
I listened to their poems profound,
Witty, sophisticated, urbane, uptown.
And from all this wondering, one thing came clear,
I wondered what the hell, I’m doing here?
Steve Scott – 2012
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