I don’t know much about poetry. You know, I’m one of those guys who just knows what he likes . For example, I really can’t handle Longfellow’s “The Song of Hiawatha.” The thing just seems to go on and on (and on and on).
I think that, quite probably, the greatest poem ever written was the one about bow legged men:
What manner
Of men are these
Who wear their balls
In parentheses?
Of course, if that is too sophisticated for you, sonnets are nice. Elizabeth Barrett Browning could pen some decent words:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
There was also some Englishman, Bill Something-Or-Other, who put out a few good sonnets in his day. I’ve heard tell that he also wrote a few stories. Darn, I wish I could remember his name.
