Most people don't like to write and share poetry. They're afraid their poems might come off as "bad." We're taught that poetry is a special talent, flowing from the inner core of its creators, then worked and re-worked to perfection. But most "good" poetry leaves me befuddled, or day-dreamy. What was I reading, I wonder, as I start a few lines back and try again. Pop music from the 60s starts playing in the dusty jukebox of my head. I flip through the book, wondering how many more poems are left to read. Will I get through them, or just skip around to the easy ones? What was I reading again? At least I'm trying to read some poetry, I commend myself. Start once more.
Like ballet, it takes a special appreciator, as well as a special writer to excel in this particular craft. My theory is that there's nothing inherently wrong with bad poetry. In fact, bad poetry is fun to write. I don't know if it's fun to read, but it's probably more fun than reading Sylvia Plath. I think we should all pinpoint our muses, write our poems and revel in them; good or bad. I did so today.
The Wookiee Has No Pants
From the Shadowlands of Kashyyk
to the moon-smashed shores of the Yuuzhan Vong War
Son of Attichitcuk, husband of Mallatobuck
Father of Lumpawaroo, distinguished speaker of Shyriiwook
Han Solo never revealed his true feelings for you.
Loyal friend, faithful mechanic
Walking carpet, would-be head-ripper of Orion Ferret
From the Great Pit of Carkoon
to the leafy fronds of Rwookrrorro,
You freed squabbling Wookiee clans
by ripping the arms and legs from the sockets
of Trandoshan slaver, Ssoh
Disguised as Snoova to protect Leia Organa
and nanny to the Jedi twins
What of your own wife and child?
Never mind — a bitter pill.
As Yoda so sagely intoned,
Good-bye Chewbacca. Miss you, I will.
Research gathered from Wookieepedia
SuperNova performs Chewbacca in the last video.