In this age of online presence, I have developed certain goals.  Besides the serious ones of never discovering my picture on naughty websites or having my identity stolen (why anyone would want to hide under this persona I’ll never know but I still don’t want it to happen) I have a few other goals more as a matter of pride.  I have discussed them before here.  In short, I am hoping I am never cringing at the people at Walmart photos and realize, “Wait a minute! Those pants look familiar.”  And look down in horror to see the same pair on me.  Or to have any of my photos appear on awkward family photos and be relegated to meme mockery.  No, thank you.  I now have a new fear to add to the list.  I don’t want to find any of my poems on a bad poetry website.

I stumbled into poetry and I realize I’m rather clueless at it.  Apparently, the first criteria for writing bad poetry is to do it innocently.  Crud.  That would be me.  I have no idea what the line is between bad and quirky.  It’s a gray area to me which means I could stumble over into the dark side (in a matter of speaking) and not know it.

But Professor Seamus Cooney does seem to know.  At least, he is quoted on several of the bad poetry links I found.  He has become some kind of gatekeeper of poetry.  I run the risk by writing his name to draw his ire in my direction and thus, defeat my goal.  Since my little blog is so small though I’ll chance it.

I just would prefer not to have the poetry po-po called on me.