a poem from the bathtub

Weightless nothing,

but structure.
What
infinitely tiny colony built these rigid chambers,

left these crispy solid wisps
that
bob and wave, but don’t.

Exoskeleton of a creature that never existed.

The moment washed away as my soggy leg circles the drain.

Scowling at a misplaced nail file,
as it lazily drifts around the whirlpool; realizing it
is
actually
a small sliver of soap.






 **Disclaimer: I am not a poet, but I like to steep in long baths that morph me (even more so) into an idealist that writes poem-reflections. The self-imposed consequence of the risk I took of dropping my iPhone into the bubble-ridden bath water was that I posted this poem, which might possibly suck upon later examination.  Enjoy?**

poetry schmoetry

I was on a recent kid poem kick for a random reason, and I've been filtering through a lot of Shel Silverstein. Obviously every kid is exposed to his poems through grade school, but I was never really interested in spending a lot of time reading his writings.  Anyways, found the selection below in my word wanderings, and I'm just not sure how I feel about it.  For kids, sure, but it seems overly obvious and 'life-advice-y' in a sense that if anyone questioned it, I don't think the questions could be answered. I don't like wasted words, I often question my choices and I value others' opinions as someone who often questions their choices/decisions.  

Dear Mr. Shel Silverstein,

Speaking from current and historic self-experience, what if your voice is really indecisive?  What if it has good intuition, but is vague beyond that?  I need directions to back up instincts sometimes, where do those come from, careful guesswork?  What if I like running my trickier thoughts by friends and people that every now and then just know better?  What if I am too cautious to follow these inner clues and I miss out?

This is either a waste of time or a needed procrastination device.  You decide.