Though the following is not a poem, it links to poetry and personal experience, so enjoy nonetheless. This blog is in dire need of some comic relief, wouldn't you agree? ;) Why is the term, "Poetic Scout" an oxymoron? I learned this from experience. No sooner had I been persuaded to join the army of scouts and tacky uniforms than I begun to have the growing urge to quit and get the hell out of there! Poets do not belong in scouts- this is just a fact of life. You cannot expect an absurd, artistic, and obediency-challenged poet to blend in with the flow of people who all dress and march exactly alike. What is the point of lifting your feet off of the ground at the same tempo as everyone else in the group, when you could concentrate less on your feet and more on your surroundings? A poet is distracted by the chirping of the birds and observes snowflakes gracefully falling to the ground. Just when I have an ideal start to a poem stuck in my head, I am disrupted by dr...