FOUR - EMMASSARIAL LOREFARE

Published by Reblogs - Credits in Posts, January 4th, 2022

I immediately dropped everything I was in the middle of because I felt compelled to answer Emma's commentary about me. So I tried my best to outdo her (which, to be honest, has no bearing on her feedback or its significance). I want to reassure myself that I can still write clever but mediocre poetry. Certainly none of my poetic work is worthy of publication or blogging about, but for my own private enjoyment, I like my poetry.

Based on what I came up with, I have to admit I still have a lot to learn from Emma. However, there are some glimmers of latent poetic talent that gives me hope that one day I can write more elegantly, like Emma does in her final drafts.

Here's the mediocre poem I came up with, but remember this was created under the duress of an injury to my very fragile self-esteem, which I believe often gives one's writing a 'handicap allowance' so that it can be judgedby the reader in context. Proof? Well, pretend the below was written by a five year old and it would be stunningly precocious; pretend it's written by Maya Angelou and you might reconsider whether she were losing her penchant for good writing.

We will fight together,

side by side, I hope,

but if Emma refuses to fight,

I'll fight her myself

through the stinging

lyrics of my prose

prose that I compose

compose and decompose

decompose and decompress

put on a dress, dear, it's Sunday.

fate of my spirit

spirit of record

record of birth

birth of a genre

genre of a novice

novice of no vice

no vice of mine

mine for the past

passed for a joke

a joke that breaks yolk

upon the pate of some folk

who don't even realize they're woke

whatever that means I assume it's a joke

a joke that broke because the olivewood

that gave it structure and a marriage bed

like the badass bed built directly

in an olive tree he shared with Penelope

eventually anyway. Took him long enough!

I thought of a joke, hinging on a pun

olives would, olivewood wouldn't

what do you think? Did that make you groan?

Bitch go head and groan your rhetoric

I think you might

be my type

You into serifs?

Why, am I under arrest?

I didn't say you were under arrest. Are you? Oh, I said serif not sheriff

So I'm not under arrest?

Not yet. I'm still not a Sheriff. But I was going to ask if you might want to come over and do a few lines with me

Nope. Sans Serif only

nothing personal it's just

No I understand; everyone has their own preference

I was gonna say it's just for religious reasons

Are you Jewish?

What kind of question is that?

What kind of question is THAT?!

It's a yes/no question, to be clear.

Would it be a problem if I were?

Well done! Usin' that subjunctive! What a great mood! And no, it's not a problem at all; why would it be?

Just . . . it's just . . . my parents only want me to hang out with right-to-left languages because they say

Everyone has the right to be left alone,

but nobody is left alone if they are right.

Oh nice, I love bumper sticker aphorisms!

But truly, that was very well done

like a stake

in the heart

heartland of the country

country of the free

to use during the trial period;

but when freedom no longer rings, we cancel the

whole

idea

just because one's serif has been snipped off at birth

one's kerning will never have any less girth

If I told you my stats, you'd assume I'm all hype

Euphemisms are cheap like a rhyming wet-wipe

A gag gift for authors

who know they're 'the shit'

I hope it is clear what a deeply serious scholar I am.

my entire book collection, I'm not kidding

Illusions will shatter when you see

all those letters on my shelves

arranged neatly on paper and bound

I'm sorry if sometimes it gets confusing

or if you start to think there's some trust I'm misusing

where I lead you down one path then BAM! by surprise

my brain - which is found somewhat aft of the eyes

INTERJECTS abruptly that:

Anyway letters in longhand have not yet been sent

I typed them myself on the first day of Lent

without my tobacco, a wholesome day spent

in the predictable misery of nicotine

withdrawal

so I lit up anyway, knowing that relenting

is an option

with the very high price

of your judgement

This is the equivalent of a mixed-materials poem

I'm not the first to attempt it, but I'm the first one to do it with this particular meter

a sophisticated melange in the tradition of mixed materials literature.

Iambic pentameter sometimes,

limericks at other times,

aspiring to cleverness at all times, (e.g., now, which as far as you and I are concerned is . . . right now! I'm punctual and will be here on time anytime you come back to read this. I am here for you. So I wrote a poem for you, the reader.

Butter my heart, O five course meal of text

so I may give you glory as the best.

Admit I do the many lines refused

cinco iambus does not fit the rules

Tensile labels, each line a disaster

A force now weak, below, relinquishes

to me the right, (or, yes, perhaps, duty)

to redefine the forms that I don't like.

Don't call this experimental, though,

because an experiment requires a hypothesis, materials, and

a measure of control

measure of control twice,

cutting of control once.

Look. See? These aren't words.

This is just text.

It turns into words when it is read.

YOU , READER , bring these words to life simply with your gaze upon their elegant serifs

We words -- all of us up here on this page -- want to sincerely thank you for reading us.

If it weren't for you, we would never exist,

and if words can't get together, you'll have no sentences, not to mention paragraphs or chapters.

Who would ever want to read a text with no words?

there's probably a word for that

not illiteracy

but aliteracy

Back to back-breaking genres,

now that many be bent

shaped into something now new, lacking yet honors

but fit to be lent.

the words that we see are not the words that we speak, and how could they ever be?

the words that we see are not even words;

they are letters;

words bespoken

by a tailor in a top hat

with fangs