I am not what one would call a lover of poetry. I like it well enough but I am not in love with it. So how come I write it? I can't answer that. Some days it just happens, the words just come and I write them down. Once I have done that its over and done with. I would not recognise something I had written unless it was among my own things. They are written and forgotten. So I decided to start another blog. Am I nuts or what?. I have so many short poems written down that I felt the need to get them all in one place and so a blog seemed appropriate. I can then illustrate it as well. When done I can print it out.
My uncle Harold loved to write poetry. Neither of us are brilliant poets but I think when it comes from the heart it doesn't somehow matter too much. We write for ourselves. Well my uncle is not with us any more so for me his are a treasure to keep forever because he shared them with me.