Poetry 'n' Such With Paul Piatt

Good day to one and all, ye gentle perusers of the I’m With Stupid web log.

With great care and humility on my part, and in conjuncture with a brief and kindly given moment of your time, allow me to introduce myself.

I am Paul Piatt, the new Poetry and Literary Editor for I’m With Stupid.

Some of you may already be familiar with my name from the myriad of books that I have penned over the years, and the awards I have dutifully earned, and humbly accepted.

For instance, in 1998, I was named Poet Laureate of American Samoa for my South Pacific inspired book of prose and poetry titled...

“Unleavened Breadfruit.”

Of course, most of the literary world is more familiar with my 2003 compilation of poetry and short stories inspired by my travels while holidaying in Cyprus titled...

“I Was Greeked-Out in a Turkish Bathhouse by Plato and Herodotus.”

For those few who may be unfamiliar with Paul Piatt and his craft, I offer unto you, this postaforementioned synopsis of my curriculum vitae…

For two score and ninety percent of another score of my five decades plus eight on this beautiful oblique spheroid that we corpuscular beings call Earth, I have dedicated my life to teaching the written word, seeking out the best of the written word, and above all, making love with and to, the beauty that is the written word.

Indeed…My temptress, my mistress, my target d’amour, is the lady called, Language.

And to that end, I would like to metaphorically look beyond myself, and attempt to ingratiate you and the Lady that is Language, to a new, and up and coming poet, one…Byron Lord of Wooster, Ohio who artfully wrote the following...

The Postman Never Rings Twice

I saw the mailman spryly step down the communal lane of my apartment complex.
He paused for a moment, and then with his rough and experienced hand,
began to micro-sort the tender trappings of communications he was carrying.

And then, woefully…

In the form of a meteorological banshee, a sudden gust of wind
carelessly and callously, kidnapped a letter from the hand of the strapping civil servant,
and I wondered…

Was that letter intended for me?

Was that carefully enveloped and well typed out communiqué, Jesus himself reaching out to me?

Was that piece of mail that is now reveling in the abandon of the warm currents of summer air…

An invitation welcoming me home to the sense of self I knew long ago?

I would have asked the postman if he knew, but of course…

The Postman never rings twice.

--Byron Lord

And now gentle readers, I bid you adieu, and look forward to once again offering you the best of the written word.

For now, as I travel the road less traveled,

Paul Piatt

neshobadude@yahoo.com
@mattmaniws