I submitted this poem for critique to an online writing forum and got battered with criticism. So I stopped posting there. Not very mature, I know, but I figured it was better than the alternative (which involved me, a few four letter words, and a "Submit Post" tab).
I happen to like this one and so do the kids I've read it to, which helps a bruised ego recover from Other People's Opinions.This poem, and the book I intend to publish one day, may only remain a dream in my head. But I'm pretty sure the opinion of my intended audience matters a bit more than those who like to rain on other people's parades.
I know a man named Roy B. Giv
and he’s a funny little man.
Always talking ‘bout colors like
Red and blue and yellow, too
and his walks on Rainbow Lane.
Roy…Mr. Giv, I mean, comes from far away.
He travels the world on a raindrop or two and scares away the gray.
Roy…Mr. Giv, I mean, dances in the clouds.
Singing and laughing and dancing on air, for his only reason to
rise and greet the sun each day?
Living a glorious riddle and playing his
fiddle while he paints the
world a color he likes to call happy