A Pome a Day for a Year

Looking at a few of my past poems
from before the start of last August,
and chuckling a low happy noise,
with gravelly cadence and jolly jumps.

(and while it would be easy, oh so so,
for a swift copy pastearoo,
and share the hijinx,
it would go against the fair spirit of the game!)

So I must just view them,
and smile, and wist, and think back
to the days of when this was something
that I gave a proper go.

Not to say this venture, chugging
like an old choo choo,
is not a proper go, but an aspect of
ambition is different.

Me now, has a goal, of 365 in a row
without a pause nor break,
forging despite the brain or health
until the goal passes underfeet.

Me then, what a plonker,
trying to emulate friends, who
were regarded with envious adulation
at how they crafted the words.

Dare to be me, dare to be comfy
with the way you make the lines,
with the way you form the thoughts,
your style is yours alone, and worth it.