I sold a pair of socks
My quest for Internet Riches continues unabated.
I sold a pair of socks today,
the products courtesy of Amazon.
The words were mine, though not as good
as those penned by Diana Gabaldon.
These socks should fit like gloves for feet
and wear like silky iron.
It's somewhat risky, buying online
'cause you really can't do a try-on.
The strategy: to crank out hubs,
each flogs a specific article.
Amazon provides the stock
and I hang on, as a barnacle.
Selling socks might make me rich, although
Incremental profits seem insubstantial.
I earned a dollar plus eight cents, I'm saving
to buy a house in Schull.
Anyone can flog their wares,
it's free to write some hubs.
Don't get flagged for being overly promotional
because no rhyme can erase the horrible feeling when that happens.
And you, dear reader, deserve a prize
for wading through this drivel.
it's a cheap come-on to sell more stuff
including art from Ruth Divall.
Should you suddenly need more socks,
I heartily endorse
My partnership with Amazon
and my hubs filled with blank verse.
Detailed Analysis of previous poem
My poem clocks in at only 219 words. HubPages won't allow Google to index my poem unless I can crack the 700-word barricade. To that end, I present a detailed analysis of my verse:
- it's really bad,
- it doesn't rhyme particularly well,
- it's a little snarky, and
- it's too short.
Point 1: It's really bad
Were I a professional poem writer, surely I would starve. I'd have free health care because that's a human right, but I'd be hungry and probably out-of-doors. My poem skillz rival that of a highly skilled rap artist, but that's akin to pronouncing myself the tallest midget in the room.
Bob Dylan writes good poetry: I'm not him. Unfortunately, were he to attempt to publish in this venue he would also be labeled substandard for not meeting the eponymous goals set forth by the owners of this site. It's their sandbox and they get to make the rules. Bob could bunk with me in my cardboard box down by the river.
Point 2: it doesn't rhyme particularly well
Rhyming represents a key component of the kind of poetry I understand. The last words in every other line are supposed to end with the same sound. I grasp the concept but putting it into practice becomes problematic when I am blessed with the brain of an engineer.
Online thesauri make the problem worse. I have immediate access to words that functionally meet the requirements for rhyming but there's no heart in it. The words come from my keyboard rather than from my emotional core, wherever that is.
Point 3: it's a little snarky
Snark lives in all my poetry. I know it when I see it. Where it comes from remains a mystery. Perhaps I was raised improperly or too properly or not at all. A number of feasible explanations come to mind. Any number of external influences might be blamed.
No one will ever write a tell-all non-fiction classic about my poems. Perhaps I'm bitter.
Point 4: it's too short
HubPages rules and regulations stipulate 700+ words to qualify for Google indexing opportunities. Without Google and the minor search engines, your writing languishes on a hard drive for all eternity. Your compositions could rival Mark Steyn or Lewis Carroll, but unless you've topped 700 words you will see virtually no audience.
How many exceedingly qualified writers and artists find themselves stifled by this obstacle? The digital world will never know. Google makes the rules and HubPages deigns to follow them. We all benefit or suffer or both, often at the same time.
Personally, I can't imagine a 700 word poem that doesn't have the word epic in the title. I'm not a wordy poet. My attention span is precisely 219 words in this particular example. Any more rhymes would cause severe synapse strain and might adversely impact my ability to be an engineer.
Thanks for reading
Experienced writers may squeeze out a few more words via recognitions and thank-you statements. This is one of those.
