Sometimes I get inspiration from poems. It doesn’t happen too often but it reminds me of when I was a quiet and awkward pre-teen. I would spend hours locked away in my room reading.
The books I chose could have been anything, though they mostly consisted of small paperbacks such as Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen’s mystery novels, some hardcover Nancy Drew, Atlas of Parrots of the World, the Dictionary (yes, I read the dictionary as a form of entertainment), and an occasional book on poetry.
Sometimes the poetry manifested in an odd way. I once found an elaborate, and quite brilliant, poetic tale in a Calvin and Hobbs comic strip book. I liked the piece so much that sometimes I would copy the prose and pretend that I came up with it on my own. That of course didn’t impress anyone, not even myself. But it was fun to pretend.
I found another such poem today, one that I knew I once read when growing up. The following prose reminds me of someone very important in my life. I’m sure they would appreciate it too.
Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809 – 1892
He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.