Poem of the Day: Baby Love

As a non-poet I enjoy writing poetry. There is no burden of expectation.
Lately, I’ve been scribbling one-page page poems, stream of consciousness, just to see what comes out. I’m fascinated by the way the words slither and lead me pleasurably astray. Here’s what happens when someone who can’t write love poetry writes a love poem…
Baby Love

Sky blue eyes? No that’s
too obvious.
Like sunrise. Like dogs barking.
Like the rush in my body when
you smile and tilt your head.
This is nothing. No good
words here, nothing a
professor or poet or even a
keen reader would appreciate.
Infantile dribble. Words spawned
at the stage where it takes
two hands to hold anything
food rolls right out of your
mouth when something
interesting passes and the
quickest way to be understood
is to bawl up from the bottom of
your belly, maybe beat your fist on the floor or
high-chair. The age when you
aren’t afraid to cry
“hold me” and
aren’t embarrassed to drool, fart or fall over
every three steps.


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