to write a poem
well not exactly a poem
old time poets disdained free verse
and this verse has lost all sense of rhythm
it reads just like scattered prose
put in a poem-like versey sort of structure
hmmmm i thought
maybe I had better make something rhyme
i guess this last line is the right time
I need a bigger penis.
Let me back up a bit. The other day while burning time forever on Facebook, I saw a post by someone – I forget who, but certainly one of those angry liberals that fill my news feed – a picture of a man in a fast food restaurant with a huge rifle/gun thing strapped to his back. The poster had commented that this man must have a small penis. Mr. Zuckerberg’s crew of censors either missed the post, or let it through because it passed the politically correct test.
This morning as I dressed all this popped into my head – the mirror reminded me, I must admit. The mirrors in my bathroom and my bedroom oten talk to me. I am usually polite so I reply. The mirror said, “You need a bigger penis.” Just like that, right out, no prelude, no explanation, just that flat statement, uninflected. Uninflected statements do have greater shock value than emotionally charged words. This is more true than ever in this day of constant high drama.
“Why so?” I said to the mirror.
“Well. (a pause here – mirrors rather like pauses. Mirrors understand me and know I need time for things to sink in). “Well, just think – you would no longer need that large car that guzzles gas – and at more than a dollar a litre that is no small thing. Unlike your penis. Depending on the size, you could even do without a car at all! Imagine the saving on insurance and maintenance alone! You could instead ride one of those girly rental bikes you find everywhere now – you wouldn’t even have to buy one of those expensive 5000 gear racers and a skin tight bike racers outfit and helmet. You could tootle about town on the rental bike wearing old clothes, secure in the knowledge that you have indeed a large penis. ”
“Hmmmm” I thought. and, ‘Hmmmm” again (though this time with more ‘mmmmm’s’
first lines began popping into my head yesterday: two then and one this morning…..
He sat in the dark listening. The window was open, letting cool air in along with the little waves of car tires on distant roads.
Quiet, soft, sad she sang as he sat in the dark remembering.
Three rotten tomatoes sitting on a wall; in his fury he smashed them all.
I have no stories in me.
This poses a problem.
This is a problem.
He looked at both sentences, considering which was better. ‘Poses’ was a verb suited to literary fiction. The verb ‘to be’ was a weak verb grammatically. But when asked who He was, God said… ‘I am’. In weakness strength?
This is a problem.
‘Ok!’, he thought , ‘the story has begun; the tale has started on its journey’. Now he could take a break; sit out in the sun and watch the leaves and birds on a summery Fall day in October. He noticed a tall, green plant with large leaves in Bobby’s garden across the chain link fence. The large pear shaped leaves waved back, noticing his smile. He turned and looked up at his tree garden, hearing unseen birds scolding and singing as one. Bits of blue sky peered through the branches and leaves. A light breeze began, caressing, comforting.
Writing is indeed hard work.