I wrote my first book when I was 10. (Note I said wrote, not published.) It was a mystery involving a group of kids who find a secret door behind a grandfather clock. The door leads to a cave – and that’s all I remember. A few years ago, I was cleaning out old files in the basement and found several poems I’d written in high school. Two were illustrated by the poet, who was not an artist. All of them were uniformly bad. I donated the batch to the recycling center.
I may be one of the few people who didn’t write poems in college. I did read a considerable amount of poetry, but a semester devoted to the English Romantic poets taught by a rather Draconian professor (“You WILL learn this!’) convinced me I was not and never would be a poet. I opted for journalism, which resembles bad poetry.
A.J. Thibault is best known for writing screenplays, short stories, and novels.
To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.
Some Tuesday Readings
To Be Worthy of Standing Before God – Meir Soloveichik at The Free Press on a poem by Robert Frost.
Michaelmas: a sonnet for St. Michael the Archangel --- Malcolm Guite.
Poetry Club Tea Date: The Turning – Tweetspeak Poetry.
“Things That Go ,” poem by Rhina Espaillat – Joseph Bottum at Poems Ancient and Modern.
Concoct – poem by Gabrielle Myers at Every Day Poems.
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