I saw Dead Poets Society tonight for the first time. How I never saw that movie before was beyond me. I should have. It was really good, but I think Good Will Hunting was slightly better. But that's for another post someday.
Anywhoozle, Dead Poets Society reminded me I haven't played poet in a while. I enjoy poetry, but I've been writing heavier research-type stuff. So let me dip my mind in the creative sauce, slather it across the grill, fry it on 400 until a golden hue, and see what we can cook up.
Polysyllabic Poem Power
Poems bemuse
Poems bedazzle
Poems bring out words in styles rarely said
Extravagant mouthpieces of legendary verbal apostles
We cling as if they have invented gospel for the mind
Souls sometimes for the go for ride if the price is right
Double down on tone and meter. Triple down for rhyme
Four beats to a measure, or is it nine?
But poems aren't only for the high class, the aristocracy, or academics
They belong to the streets, the warrior class, and the starving artists
Those with an eye for words and words for the eyes
Whether the poem is said with a beat or sold to make ends meet
Or get off the street, avoid the heat, and make life complete
Will they look at Nas the way they look at Whitman?
Or will they keep poetry in a box, defined by academic rule
What would Whitman think of Nas? What about Frost's thoughts on Ice Cube?
Common admirers of Theodor Geisel.
Soon all the living poets will be dead. Just like the dead poets.
Reincarnationists don't believe in the circle of life. It's more like a helix. Wrapped around the rhythm of the galaxy.
Now we look to wind this poem down
Turning off the literary faucet
Flushing the stragglers
Wipe it off, shine it up, put a bow on it.
Here is my latest poem.
