Camp, Day Two

Yet another exercise in iambic pentameter, after a long soak in epsom salts.

Advance, advance, retreat, retreat, advance.
If only I could somehow learn the rhythm,
Then maybe I could one day learn this art.
How many years of practice will it take
Before my verse takes flight into the skies?
But I, you say, belong upon the ground,
Not soaring through the air like Peter Pan.
Something more age-appropriate becomes
A woman of my stature; not this, not
Verse: clumsy, inelegant, a-wandering
From one thought to another. Point on target.
Should I not try e'en though I'm past the age
For whimsy? Teen-agers alone may be
Forgiven dreaming; adults like me should
Know their place. I don't, too bad! I'm here, trying
Despite my years. I promise, tomorrow's
Poem will be better. Just give me time.
Retreat, advance, advance, retreat, attack!


  1. All I know is, I so admire you for doing this! I can't remember the last new thing I made myself learn... maybe it is time that I do. Before 40? Will it ease the crisis or make it worse? Ha. See, yet another one of these... you sometimes are down because you think you will never get as good as you want at fencing (because you started "too" late?), I think it is fantastic you picked up something entirely new past your twenties, and keep at it! So, take another bath and kick those kids' little butts. V

  2. What if we put it this way to ourselves: "Am I *old enough* to try this"? Yes!!!


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