Day 28 of NApowrimo – 28 poems written and the end is nigh…today’s prompt was to write a poem about poetry “try your hand at a meta-poem of your own”. Here is my rant about archaic rules… I may even publish a second because I’m completely fired up, but for now here is
Who applied mathematics to literature?
Who dared degrade lines to a vile number count?
Who callously ripped out the soul to insert regularity?
Iambic Pentameter you are a satanic curse infecting creativity.
You leave me cold, my blood stilled.
You bind my hands and feet with rigidity.
Your condescending eye watches over my choice of phrase.
Know that you are not welcome in my world of dreams,
my moments of emotional outpouring.
My self-analysis has no need of your stuffy laws.
When I lower my defences to release pent up anger,
remorse, heartache or hurt, revealing scars
never before uncovered,
when I flood the page with deep sentiment,
boundless praise of nature’s beauty,
when I proclaim my love of the one I adore
or worship my children, professing eternal gratitude
for being so blessed,
do I need your calculated condemnation?
Do I need your bony finger pointing out inconsistent
syllable counts or misplaced emphasis?
No! Close the door on your way out!
You are old and decrepit, redundant and impotent.
You shall not haunt my page. Be gone.
Lie down in your cold grave and let the living write poetry.