BACKWARD POET

This poem was inspired by various critics who suggested I: write sonnets, not rhyme, change my meter and correct my grammar. As my poetry is a definitive personal statement, I resist most suggestions. I refuse to compromise my writing to accommodate the desires of others. I am the ultimate arbiter of my work, and I have innate confidence in my choices regarding it.


BACKWARD POET

I’m a backward poet, and what is worse,
I’m a backward poet who writes inverse.
Although I tried some rearranging
My meter I will not be changing
Ten beats per line, what a boring bummer.
I like to march to a different drummer.
Yes, the Bard’s Sonnets are immortal,
But there’s none I can quote.
“A trip to the moon on gossamer wings”.
Is the line I wish I’d wrote.
Some may not like my beat irregularity
But the person I want to please is ME
Is poetic license only given to those,
Whose poetry is more like prose?
And so I write the way I want.
Not caring if it’s discordant.
Yes, I break the rules as I rhyme away
Sometimes I’ll include a forbidden cliché.
As my poems earn praise at each performance
I will continue my non-conformance.
I’m a backward poet, some think that’s sad.
But a black sheep like me likes being baaaaaaad.

By Sue Raymer Woods
August 6, 2009

IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES and I'M SWEARING OFF OF YOU...AGAIN

I'm back in my Dorothy Parker mode in these poems.

IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES

I finally found the man of my dreams.
But our romance fell apart at its seams
Religious dispute made our love forbidden..,

Because, he thought he was God and I didn’t.

By Sue Raymer Woods
May 2, 2009

I’M SWEARING OFF YOU… AGAIN

It seems the last time didn’t take,
And you’re in every vow I break.
Our love’s over, why pretend?
I’m swearing off you…again.
Each time we make-up,
Just ends in a break up,
I’m through Beginning the Beguine,
So I’m swearing off you…again
I’m determined I will find
A man that won’t be so unkind.
You can’t even be my friend.
I’m swearing off you…again.
I’m no longer gonna fall,
For your promise that you’ll call.
I won’t seek your love in vain.
I’m swearing off you… again.

By Sue Raymer Woods
April 10, 2006
Revised August 19, 2009

LOVE IS LIKE AN INDIAN SUMMER

Those who reside in San Francisco, with its eternal spring climate, do not experience the dramatic Indian summer known in the Northern states and Midwest, where the changing seasons are more distinctive.

LOVE IS LIKE AN INDIAN SUMMER

Love is like an Indian summer, appearing in fall.
And, just like love, it never comes at your beck and call.
It comes unannounced after autumn’s first frost.
As we shiver and mourn for the Love that we lost.
Astonished, we bask in its warming rays,
Totally spellbound in its hypnotic daze.
In its glowing warmth we want to tarry,
But its stay will just be momentary.
Indian summer with its fleeting rapture,
Is so like the Love we couldn’t capture.

By Sue Raymer Woods
May 2, 2009