…and doesn’t do it well.

Kitten says it’s World Poetry Day.  This is my contribution.  It’s not satire.  It’s not snarkasm.  It’s a stunning display of my complete ineptitude and my deep appreciation for the beauty that Blitz and Kitten produce so easily.  Sincerely, I’m in awe of their talent.

Years ago, before Kang existed, Kang’s parents were beatniks living in Greenwich Village (explains a lot, nej?).  They hung out with poets, walked the walk and talked the talk (but did they inhale?). Yet, this influence and the words from the first editions of Ginsberg’s works that sit on my nightstand (thank you, Daddy) enter my brain, swirl around and go to the file cabinet drawer where things like finite and applied calculus reside.  Poetry, like men and mathematics, is a code I cannot crack no matter how hard I try.

Marnie can’t Haiku
although she doesn’t blame you
Poetry is weird.

Oh, Kang. You made Applebloom sad.

To the poets of the world, I thank you for the gift you share, the joy you bring and the thoughts you provoke.