Yesterday morning, was looking for a small picture frame I hid in my filing cabinet. I have this huge metal filing cabinet I sorta inherited from my father. When my dad died, I moved out all his stuff and stored a miscellany of my things. As I sorted through the mess yesterday, I took the time to clean out some old notebooks and lectures I wasn't going to use anymore. I came across a lot of half-finished poems, most scrawled in pencil. The handwriting was awful. Hmmm...It still is, actually -- LOL!

I reminisced about the good ole college days, when I always scribbled away poems on any piece of paper that I happened to have. It wasn't good stuff, but it wasn't half bad either. I wallowed in the mediocrity of my prose, so to speak. I haven't written anything recently though. I now lack the emotional drive to write new poems. You see, emotion has a lot to do with creating poems -- weaving the words, I call it. Emotion gives you the necessary "feel" for the poem. And I believe that there are only 2 human emotions that produce truly exceptional pieces -- love and grief. I'll type one of them tomorrow, just to lay creedence to my point of view.