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How did I learn to decipher the gnarled symbols Set so securely on those ivory-tinted sheaves? Squiggly lines standing tall in prim and proper rows; Running left to right; clumping chunks of mystic texts; Summoning and enchanting my young mind. What albatrosses beckoned from behind closed covers? What gave me nerve to answer their calls? Flapping their paper wings in the breeze, Clacking withered spines against the floors, Enriching and shaping my naïve thoughts. What gentle madness makes mankind Choose cloistered solitude, or Shun springtime fields for hopes or memories? Leather-covered, acid-free with a glimmer of dust, Adventure stirs in the opening of the covers. What teacher led me to that foreign oasis To satisfy my ceaseless thirst? Ere youthful soul first skipped toward school, My mind had conquered the quiet joy of reading: For Mom's bedtime stories had long bewitched my heart. |
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The Rime of Missed Messages Their open beaks and hardened spines caused my heart to stir. I wondered what they held within; what words they had for me, But when I looked between their spines, their message seemed to flee. They spoke exotic gibberish, weird glossolalia, And I could naught but hide in shame from their bewitched tirade: Volumes, volumes everywhere formed with foreign sounds; Volumes, volumes everywhere with mysteries tightly bound. Their talons latched onto my soul and tried to bring it life, But I could only mouth the words with no relief from strife. Was there meaning in these signs which spread across the page? Was there meaning hidden here to soothe my teeming rage? Their leatherbacks and gold-flecked wings were something to behold; The treasures they bestowed on me, made quite a heavy load. Volumes, volumes everywhere formed with foreign sounds; Volumes, volumes everywhere with mysteries tightly bound. For knowledge of a thousand tongues, I prayed would fall on me. The mantel of linguistic ken would calm my misery. Will I ever comprehend this stressful cacophony That's closed my ears to clicks and stops and twelve-tone symphonies? The seagulls saw the uselessness of their communiqués. They settled back into their nests; my mind to disarray. Volumes, volumes everywhere formed with foreign sounds; Volumes, volumes everywhere with mysteries tightly bound. The world continues on its way benign in its intent. The storm clouds swirl across the skies until their wrath is spent, But I must try to lift myself from ignorance to bliss Or pine about the wisdom of humanity that I'd missed. |
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How to End a Poem For It will end itself, But if the pen won't stem its flow The guides below may help: Like a curse or creeping pox Avoid a summary ending; End your poem with images Or surprising anecdotes, Or words which echo or evoke The sounds that went before; Instead of floating freely Upon a brackish sea, Anchor your poem securely In its reality; Use an apt comparison: A stardust stampede in the sky Or a choir of contrite crickets; Shock the complacent From their somnolence; Close with musical chords Which promise a resolve. There are as many ways to end a poem and yet there is not one For poems will just communicate Exactly when they're done. |