THE POET, SHE'S A WICKED PAL
The poet has no friends
but words,
smooth vowels that move
some imaginary One.
She feels akin to a pause
caused by a dash --
just so, you know,
the dramatory breath.
She cavorts with commas,
makes love to license that,
like incense, rises to her muse
to say that it's okay to use
like or as a thing,
like dramatory breath --
or dramatary-- come to that,
from just a whim.
She thinks of them,
letters, sounds, and breath,
the Someone and the Muse,
when writing about death
and still at other times
when feeling most alive.
The poet, she's a wicked pal,
you know, when you consider
how her only loves are those
who do her will the most.
I. Love. This!
ReplyDelete"She cavorts with commas,
makes love to license that,
like incense, rises to her muse
to say that it's okay to use
like or as a thing,
like dramatory breath --"
Oh my...brilliant, dear friend.
Oh Karen...I never thought you could write porn poetry! Good Job!! Film?
ReplyDeleteLove this! "Cavorts with commas..." Boy I sure do! And I'm fickle with them too - putting them in & taking them out on a whim. Poetry does NOT require grammar. I think.
ReplyDeleteLike the whismy and music in this one. And like Bug said, "cavorts with commas" is priceless. :)
ReplyDeletevery creative idea, and extremely well done.
ReplyDelete...."she cavorts with commas...."
good job.
Hi Karen, I just published an exhaustive study on how to write poetry, feel free to stop over at TWM and pick up a copy.
ReplyDelete