Poetry Class

    Only an idiot would curse themselves, but I did so by enrolling in a poetry class.  Now I am thinking in poetry.  After finally recovering from my thyroid inspired fit of poetry, I have enjoyed several years of being able, but not compelled, to write poetry.  Since I can write the words but no longer remember the "rules" of poetry, I enrolled in a continuing ed. (aka non graded) poetry class at our community college.  At the first class I learned than this is not a technical class teaching form, meter and whatever else I have forgotten about poetry; it is a performance class in which we create, read and critique poetry.  I wasn't worried about creating poetry, I have a nursery full of my homely brain children at home, but there was no warning label that taking this class could cause unwanted thoughts of "poetryside".  It is not so much the sensation of being inspired, it is more like being mugged by my muse, robbed of time and brain cells that could be much better spent on useful things, like where I parked the car at the mall. Ever since my thyroid's revenge I have felt like I am going along, minding my own business when out of nowhere thoughts invade my brain and demand to be written down.  Prose is time consuming, poetry painfully slow.
     And now this blog, my reliable refuge when the writing rant comes over me, will be infected with poems as well.  An innocent, but self inflicted injury.  No longer just coping tools to purge personal pain, this poetic world view will probably inspire insipid verse and I will blog them all--the good, the bad and the ugly, encouraged by my classmates kind critiques.  So I will do what my class did not:
     Warning:  This blog may lead to unwanted thoughts of poetry.  Read it and weep!