An Attempt

via Daily Prompt: Assay

Word count = 371 / Reading time = 1 minute, 30 seconds

Pardon the archaism as I assay to impress all you discerning Bloggers out there.

It occurs to me that many of us here in the blogosphere are prospectors, our posts the ore we assay, sifting countless samples daily to determine quality, to tease out the ingredients of good stories, photos, and poems, not simply to enjoy the work of others, but to learn  how to forge quality gems of our own.  I spend an hour or two several times a week browsing the wares of the few Bloggers I follow as well as what’s on display in the Community Pool and in response to the Daily Post and other writing prompts.  Of course there is much on offer that doesn’t interest me, is of poor quality or in bad taste, but I always find plenty of items of exceptional, polished quality.

My own offering today is a poem I wrote shortly after waking up inexplicably at 3:00 AM one morning following a graduate poetry writing seminar the previous afternoon in which we discussed language poems.  I let the odd hour stand as the title.  If you are of a certain age or your mind is of a peculiar bent, you may even be able to wrangle some meaning out of this, but mainly, it just sounds good when read aloud.

If you feel it needs further refining, be sure to let me know in the comments down below.

3 A.M.

I have not come to expect

except to accept and

expect gradations.

 

While great nations inspect, or

insects grade expectations,

for why not be exact?

 

Exact a toll or for

bloom the tell holes?

 

Not just exact science

but an exacting appliance.

Application of convenient

alliance in austere convents.

 

Ah, conventional’s dear, as opposed to

unconvinced beer:  trust me,

this is all science friction.

Enough fiction breeds sparks,

as does bad diction,

but neither so much as poor depiction.

 

So much as is too much

but is too much ever enough

and so much is too tough.

 

Because as much as is too much

is not as much as it must seem

and never as much as one touch.

 

And ever touch as one must.

And ever touch as one must.

 

 

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31 thoughts on “An Attempt

  1. Clever!

    I did this once. Its. Years ago I tripped in the hallway at my job and landed on my boss, pushing him against the wall. He always teased me about being an English major…

    Here’s the “poem”

    A hall
    A fall
    A wall
    That’s all.

    Amused
    I used
    a muse.
    Amused?

    Liked by 2 people

      1. You are a masterful writer. Hope you write a novel because you have a balance of intensity, amusement, scary, and that edge that keeps you hungering for more. Please, keep writing! Write a book! Mystery, suspense, with a soup sen (can’t remember spelling atm, internet went down and I exhausted myself doing other things) of humour. It would be a best seller! I’d definitely line up!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. <>Aww, shucks, thank you Phyllis. It’s been my lifelong dream to write. Unfortunately, I was too lazy and afraid when I was young and had time. Now I’m middle-aged, married with 2 young kids, a homeowner, and a full-time probation officer. I started this blog with the intent to hone my writing skills and begin building a body of work with the eventual goal of having something worth publishing. I have much less time to devote to it than I’d like. But encouragement (occasional, not frequent, I don’t want to get a big head!) like yours may be the long-missing ingredient I need to keep me from giving up.

        Thank you very much for reading and especially for such sweet, thoughtful, uplifting remarks.

        Take care, be well, and happy Blogging!

        Denny

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      3. Your welcome, Denny (me being bold now). I stand by what I said. I write a page a day. If that helps. I have 5 grandkids whom I take care of daily. It’s a crazy busy life from 7 am until 11 at night and often until 3 am. These days, I eek out time to write. It’s a worthwhile goal. Your writing is too good to give up on. Just a thought.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Ah, if I had 1/10 of your facility with words and imaginative mind! There were even 1 or 2 delicately-colored truth-eggs hiding in the grass (see last 2 stanzas). Others were more simply decorative, with perhaps slightly thinner shells. All pleasing to the ear, though truth is what makes an egg more than just yolk-and-white, IMO.

    Like

  3. Ahh, yes, Bilbo Baggins’s “box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid”! Thank you for your kind comments, Ellen. I like your metaphor. And don’t sell yourself short. You have no less facility with words than I do.

    Like

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