To us this is not so, not so if we prove it by writing a poem built to refute it—otherwise he wins!! ~William Carlos Williams
What if you wrote the poem
that proved everyone wrong,
but they refused to accept
the conclusion and continued
to walk with invariance
on metered and predictable feet?
What if they never learned to
breathe and step down
to a natural rhythm?
What would be the point
of walking under the
white disc of the sun
and counting
the steps to
death?
Just wanted
You to know
I left plenty of
Ripe plums
In the fridge,
But
I was depressed
And ate all
The ice cream,
Potato chips,
And cookies.
“We here must listen to the language for the discoveries we hope to make.” ~William Carlos Williams
It’s worth asking the question of
Whether this particular collection
Of words can even be considered
A poem. It has no discernable rhyme
Or meter, though it may give a nod
To metaphor, mixed and mangled.
Assonance and consonance remain,
Sure, but there’s nothing like a simile
To be found, and no one would
Mistake its shape for a proper Form.
It might help if it made an allusion
To a great poem from the past like
“Ode to a Grecian Urn” or something.
And the words may be personified,
Considering that they do all the work.
Some say a poem should speak some
Truth, even if it is full of lies, but what
Can anyone learn from this pile of rubbish,
Other than the difficulty of writing to a
Narrow prompt on rather short notice?
Or maybe the poem has simply taken
Cover, wary of inspection and harsh
Interrogation. The poem has adorned
A breastplate and drawn a sword.
Today no one shall come closer.
Today the poem is protection.