Sunday, April 16, 2017


"[...]But all they want to do 
is tie the poem to a chair with rope 
and torture a confession out of it. 

They begin beating it with a hose 
to find out what it really means."
- Billy Collins, "Introduction to Poetry" 

'It's not in your typical fashion', say you.
Well, good sir, kindly explain!
I'd very much like you to
Pick apart my very brain!

You see, I am alone with my thoughts
More than you are with me
So, you have said more than you ought
To have- a bit tongue in cheek

And if you ask me - which I am -
Me. I am me, not you,
'What is your typical fashion?'
I would reply: 'What do I do?'

To which, accordingly, say you:
'A poet, of course, by any other name,
A lyricist, and a novelist, too,
If you liken each the same'

In turn, I would scoff
And ruffle my hair,
'My dear friend, did I not ask you,
what I don't and dare?'

To which, being your witty self,
You would respond with a smile,
'You apply yourself to bookshelves,
Is that not your style?'

'My fine fellow, indeed I do,
But you're missing the mark,
You did ask me, untrue,
A statement of remark?'

''Tis not your typical fashion' 
Say you! Not who or why
Twas a claim, my disposition,
Did fancy your mind's eye!

A poet is not 'do', 
Despite your quick retort,
A poet is 'who'
Or 'how' of sorts!

'Oh, I should have never spoke'
Say you, cheeks puffed so red!
'A poet will choke
Every word till they're dead!'

And I, with great breath
Might liken a smile,
'Now, which to the death?
The poet or the style?'

Ears alight with frenzy 
You counter my drawl,
'Tis you who has slain me!
The poet brings death to us all!'

1 comment:

  1. Someone is prolific! Now I'm off to read the latest installment of Spectra.