Background: Yet another contest entry that went nowhere. That appears to be a theme in my writing.
Ideas are hard. I use contests as inspiration for both form (no longer than 500 words, a sonnet, a 1-2 character full-length play, etc.) and content (write about this painting, write something beginning with this sentence, etc.). In this way, even if I have no ideas, someone else has provided one to me. Then, I write.
In this instance, the result cracked me up --in a good way. The idea of writing a love poem to Noam Chomsky (I know him more from his linguistics than his politics, to be honest), who is old enough to be my grandfather, makes me chuckle. I submitted it for a contest that asked for poems written to revolutionaries. I never heard back. This does not surprise me. There's something to be said for writing for one's own enjoyment, but I wouldn't have responded to me, either.
It is written as a sonnet, and it involved some research (since, as I mentioned, I don't know much about Mr. Chomsky's politics). Is it great? Nope. Is it fun? I'll let you judge. I chuckled rereading it.
There's no "wrong" place to find your inspiration, and you are not required to be creative in a vacuum. Enjoy the process, and don't be afraid to be silly!
Why it will never be published: 1) it is a love sonnet to Noam Chomsky; 2) it is a sonnet; and 3) I'm never submitting it again!
To Noam Chomsky, With The Clever Eyes
To Noam, with the clever eyes:
You’re my anarcho-love ideal.
I really must apologize
For telling you the way I feel
(Although I’m practicing free speech,
A cause I know that you support.
I just don’t want to overreach --
It’s not like I’m the Supreme Court).
My feelings are not only lust --
You’ll have to take me at my word
And grant me some degree of trust,
Despite the fact I sound absurd.
I reject most authority,
But my heart says that you’re for me.
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