This week Sunday Scribblings has challenged their readers to write poetry.
Poetry stresses me out so much that it gives me serious stomach cramps.
Iambic pantameter was a rhythm I never understood. Rhyming is a skill I never acquired... in either my native tongue of French or English. Mad/Glad/Bad/Sad is about the limit of my rhyming prowess.
So rather than trying my hand at a true poem and covering myself in ridicule, I thought I would do a six word memoir, a form of poetry in its brevity.
Six word memoirs are featured at Smith Magazine. It's worth heading over to read some of the truly hilarious ones there. My favorites include the book title, "Not quite what I was planning," Hemingway's famous opening line, "For sale, baby shoes, never worn," and the romantic, "We were roadkill on love's highway."
And so... without further ado... here's my 6 word memoir:
"Would rather be late, than bored."
What's yours?
