Here is the thing, all poets write bad poems. Even my favorite poets; William Butler Yeats, W.H. Auden, Les Murray, Byron, (to name a few) wrote and published for posterity’s sake at least one or two poems that are bad, not just weak but groan worthy. So I have tried to be less hard on myself for my bad, wince inducing, poems. Instead I am calling them my warm up poems. I think of them as poems that allow me to create something more substantial, something better. Secretly, sometimes, I even like a few of them. Occasionally and more regrettably I can’t tell them from my good ones. Even more infrequently I can edit them into a better place.