We do not fear

 

THAT I, considering everywhere

Her secret meaning in her deeds,

And finding that of fifty seeds

She often brings but one to bear.

I had intended to make a statement about the inspirations that are sometimes abounding, (I should say "simply abounding" because I am reading poetry and right now that sounds hysterical) how they are not only lost to the pages but lost in your mind, you say to yourself that you won't forget them, you are sure. And then they're gone. 

The other night, for instance, I was thinking something so stupid that I had the most wonderful idea to write about what a pot smoker thinks is brilliant. It was really funny but I forgot. I CANNOT remember. It would have been something to the effect of, "I have never been blind so I cannot say whether my sense of smell or taste would be so much more fantastic if I were, but I wondered if it might be cool to close my eyes when I eat..." Which is funny because, who knows, maybe we should all try it? 

I thought it would be pretty good but I forgot! Anyway, I am reading poetry because I hate it. I really have had this poem in front of me for hours, it isn't even very long and I have taken photos of my cat eating my foot, made a photo collage of clips of the poem, read about another poet, gone on Facebook, and now I'm blogging, all in an effort to avoid trying to read this poem.

I have it in someone's very old English book with notes written in the margins. I was about to run off to the gym, but I'm about to be too sore, I will stay the course here with this poetry.

I failed poetry in college. Really I must have gotten a D, but that's failure to me. I didn't get it. Being a person who likes to write and failing a poetry class is disheartening. I have no means to try and reconcile the lack of aptitude for the one, which seems pretty essential. I don't get metaphors and similes in lines of flowery writing. I don't even want to.

I have written something today that I think is brilliant, I am going to go now and take a picture of it and add it to this, along with my lovely patchwork poem art. 

Anyway, Enjoy.

The title I think it should be, you know, as with anything, inspiration, love, worry, plans, so many things they disappear. (Disappoint appeared in my little bar here, make good choices people.)