Did the first one come with me
at birth? Or did I just began
poeting without one as
soon as my mother put
a pencil in my hand?
Certainly I didn’t wait until
I was sixteen to careen
into metaphor, stomp
on alliteration, speed
into images that, with luck,
might evoke some emotion
in a reader.
What made me think I could poet?
For years I deferred to male
colleagues who were well
published, confident,
matter of fact about
their admirable
abilities.
I hid my proverbial light under
a journalistic bushel until,
licensed or not, lines
burst out of my pen,
onto electronic paper,
not necessarily good
but true, like these,
I hope.
Come to think of it, my
best friend bestowed
my poetic license
upon my old
baby car—
GUD WRTR—
as she assured me that it
wouldn’t seem like
bragging to have it
emblazoned on
my car—
“not spelled like that”—
and she was right.
Though she and
that car have long
vanished into
the who-knows-where,
they remain right here,
tucked into a poem,
which may or may
not be good, but,
I promise, it sure
is true.
•••
Poetic license / by the fabulously prolific poet/story writer/author/lyricist
and, of course, artist Sandra Boynton
(with decades of appreciation and admiration)
Güd wrtr 
Indeed, you did NOT wait until the age of sixteen. I was the beneficiary of quite a few of your poems that spanned a veritable universe of ideas, slipped inside of homework I graded when I was a student assistant to your algebra teacher. You were just 14. One was a decoupaged graduation gift in 1973. I kept several of them, always written in a distinctive cursive (that still looks very much the same today, I should note) on lined notebook paper. They were good–really good. Other teachers were the beneficiaries of your poetic efforts. They fairly leaked out of you. By that age, you were also the master of famous quotes, which you used to bolster your nascent youthful wit. None of us who knew you then stood a chance, and you certainly didn’t suffer fools! It was a privilege to know a budding towering intellect.
You are too funny… “budding towering intellect.” You were a pretty sharp fella yourself, Mr. Stone. Thank you for this memory. I have long told the story of being hopeless at algebra (the numbers and letters swam like tadpoles in front of my eyes), but YOU got me through it. (And Mr. Allison allowed me a graceful passing grade that I’m sure I didn’t deserve.) I still appreciate that kindness from both of you.
I just love this, Jan! and that note your previous student assistant wrote you–beautiful!
with love,
Amrita
Thanks, Amrita… there is a theme there. Clever you for spotting (and remembering) it!
You go woman! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this – and, I celebrate you. Much love.
Thank youuuuuu! I celebrate you right back!
Love,
Jan