Monday, November 12, 2007
Warming Up To Poetry
[All those poetry anthologies that are so bloody depressing]
They slither through moss and dissect broken hearts
Reality and dreams in a death camp apart.
Judgments so somber in rhyme and in verse
Ethereal visions that make me feel worse.
Minstrels and lyrics, alone on the sweeps
Duplicity enough to make court jesters weep
Warnings that in life, nothing will keep
Except the cold bed of eternal sleep.
“Poets, Come stir me but don’t leave me cold
Or I’ll kindle a fire in me word-burning stove.”
I’ll toss in the poetry. I will be that bold.
I’m had quite enough of the ‘moss and the mold’.
And in the warmth of the fire, content and demure
Here will I find a most poetic allure
Oh yes, burning poems into something obscure
Is an exhilarating tonic of indulgence and cure.
I dance to the crackle, pop-flicking, and whrrrr…
Of blackened pentameter and dactylics that purr.