Hi everyone.

This November I will be presenting to you a month of daily poems as memoir, little ditties to tell you about my day or my thoughts during the day, whatever.  Of course I hope you enjoy them, but it’s ok if you don’t.  Just move on to the next blog in your list.

Day eleven is: “For today’s prompt, write an odd poem. The poem could be about something outside the ordinary (or odd). Of course, today is the 11th, and 11 is an odd number. So there’s another odd possibility for your poem…to write about odd numbers. But, you know, I’ll probably accept about any odd ideas you might have today (or any day really).“

I’m not odd, you’re odd

Who decides
if a poem is odd?

Like writing a poem about nothing:
once you write something
how can it be nothing?

Maybe oddness
is just a state of poetry