Poem and Poet

ben Alexander, who blogs at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, launched Poetry Partners a while ago, inviting fellow bloggers to send him a poem of theirs. He publishes it on his blog alongwith a personal poem inspired by each featured piece.

This is the poem I sent him.

I am a poem

I am a poem, read me
syllable by syllable
let the vowels roll
around your tongue at will
immerse yourself in
the free flow of rhythm
undulating whimsically
in its own rhyme
the meter; sometimes
measured. But oft not!

Read me at leisure
recite me aloud
let me suffuse your
entire being with joy
come alive as you
discover hidden nuances
let my darkness
illuminate your soul
cry in empathy
at my pain
allow giggles to
spontaneously erupt.

Don't try too hard
to unwrap the enigma I am
study me sip by sip
then come back
to gather more in gulps
let the meanings remain
couched in obscurity
savour the beauty
of words strung with care
the more you imbibe
the more you will come back
addicted to unravelling
me bit by bit

Decipher me at dawn
devour me at dusk
peruse me compulsorily
as you breathe
once you become one with me
you will realise life is poetry
to be carried in your heart.

A poem in two parts by ben Alexander of ‘The Skeptic’s Kaddish’

I. Blank Verse

The note was left taped to my computer
screen; 'We've got your Verse,' ito read, 'If you want
her back, you'll do exactly as we say.
We'll be in touch soon.'  Poet that I am,
I immediately knew contacting
the police would bring about a cliché
(actually... dare I say, 'prosaic'?)
storyline. I'd have to free Verse myself.


II. Free Verse

I fancy myself a poet, even
teaching my child to rhyme words
in different languages, sometimes
across different languages;
words being the primary currency
I p(l)ay with for understanding ~
pushing them into thin metal slots,
pulling the little levers, 
watching as cheap balls with comprehension
and assembly instructions roll their way
around and out my mouth.

Smooth plastic capsules,
with neat cracks through the middle, 
perfectly round, entirely unnatural,
of course, but so easy to spit out through
my teeth, lies that they are. 

I've been trying to stuff foreign terms
into vending machines, even filing them
down to size - it never works
for me. 

Worse yet, I was once beyond excited to see
a malformed plastic spheroid,
dented into an uneven, ugly crescent,
wobbling down the tube, 
but it got stuck
halfway down, and the blasted machine
wouldn't express it.

I gag and choke on reality.

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