I've decided to enter a Valentine's Day Poetry contest being run by a free local paper. I'm writing up a storm of love poems, and then I'm going to pick the best one or two and send them in by the Feb. 6th deadline. The winner gets a 7-course Valentine's Day Dinner for two at Peachwood's Steakhouse and a night of our choice in the Hootchy-Coo Suite at the Inn At Pasatiempo. The winning poem will be published in a future edition of the paper.
Okay, that's really not the name of the suite.
This is one of those parochial-minded "community" papers that screams headlines such as "Construction Work Zones Require Driving Safely" and "Dominican Hospital Has Volunteer Openings." Many of their headlines seem to experience a crisis of confidence, as capitalization fails midway through: "Big Brothers, Big Sisters to hold info night." Ooo! Here's a good one: "Palestinian, Israeli to perform play together." I think, in this day and age, that's great! But they could have picked some better photos to go with the article. What a pair of scary-looking women.
Also, what about this play they're doing? The Well of Sarah and Hagar? Never heard of it! Why not go with something like The Glass Menagerie? Put that together with the whole stunt-casting angle, I think you've got a winner.
In any case, I'm pretty psyched about this relentless pursuit of the muse that I'm currently embroiled in. I hope I come up with some pretty good poems, and maybe even a poem so good that it takes the top prize. But you know what the real top prize is, as far as I'm concerned: I could call myself a published poet.
Because, let's face it: school papers don't really count. Far as I'm concerned. Not really.
1 comment:
Hint: don't begin your poems with the lines "Roses are red./Violets are...."
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