This is why I was the world's worst English major. All those people labeling and naming and calling out and studying and pontificating and pasteurizing and bossing around what a poem is supposed to be about drove me bananas. I never wanted to be at a podium lecturing about the ways language gets used; rather, I wanted to be in the back of room playing with language without being distracted by all the detailing of what this or that is supposed to be.
I don't know if I'm concrete or abstract, and I've never really cared. I am what I am and it is what it is. My poetry lessons have always been about exploration and play and not so much about citations and AP analysis.
Ah, but I loved the challenge. Write about an object next to you. That was easy. Reading Google for the definitions of abstract and concrete simply made me confused, especially after reading all the examples that were counterproductive to one another. They canceled each other out.
So I tripped over a bone into my chair, looked over at the frogs, and landed just in time to see my new friend carrying today's carcass to her den. I really love her and want her to invite me to meet her newborns. It is absolutely magic to see her in action three days in a row (and yes, my dog is part of the poem, but not the critter-carrier....not at all)
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