PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In the dusty, empty streets of the town

that is called, the AnyKindaVerse;

like bestilled and uprooted tumbleweeds

they lie, face down, those visbile souls

of the ancient poets, preserved in tattered scrolls

(whose lilting lines no one willingly reads);

bad-asses, who dared to try to rehearse

their rules and grammars like a stultifying curse

upon the HeartSeeps of the AnyKindaVerse.

But of all this, the town, much relieved, as been rid

by the AnythingGoes of the frontier kid

known to them all as an artist well named

(with talent self-priased and self proclaimed),

the much meandering Do-Does-Did,

who brought the scraping squelch of an existential skid

from a can of worms from which his pride pried the lid.

ENVOI, The First:

For this kind of scurrilous, careless abuse

that mars, and monstrifies, and mocks,

that defies and denigrates, and demeans

(the Do-Does-Did was meant for this kind of task),

Eric of Paris would not have doffed his mask,

and BlueLevels would not slide out of his shoes

to flaunt his fragrant, soft, warm, sky-blue socks

beneath the frayed cuffs of his faded, bell-bottom jeans.

ENVOI, The Second:

As I view this, having brought the final line home,

I wonder---is this the gist of a mock epic poem.

The writing of it may seem like an upward slope,

with which (I think) I can adequely cope

by the cut and paste poems of old Alexander Pope.

Starward

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