A Poem Plus More

I'm a poet. I'll try to write a new poem right now. Here it is:

In an Office Downtown.

He's in a clean, warm room,
picking through papers,
circling things, highlighting
things, typing memos to
co-workers, business associates
and customers on a computer.
There are walls around him.
He feels as though the walls are fine.

Chirping and ocean
waves come from
a little stereo nearby.

OK, that's it. That's the poem. It's not supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, but it's original, and it's mine. I have a lot of poems written in notebooks. I think it's a good idea to transfer them to a computer so if I lose the notebooks, I'll still have the poems.

I wonder what the legal status of stuff on blogs is. Am I an owner of what I write here? I care enough to ask the question, but not enough to go look for an answer. I might want to be an author someday, so I'm curious.

Moving on, the best book I've read in a long time is Sufferings in Africa: The Incredible True Story of a Shipwreck, Enslavement, and Survival on the Sahara by Captain James Riley. It's a personal narrative first published in 1817.

May the force be with you.