Featured, Poetry, Thorn's Blog
What is Poetry?
Aug
Literati!
This post is just so I can familiarize myself with how to post stuff on this site again…it has been a while. In the next few days, with the help of Stefanie and Tiffany and others you will meet, we will be launching our most significant contest, with a $500 prize. In the meantime, here is a little poem his moiness, who never writes poetry, has composed for your entertainment:
What is Poetry?
Poetry is the third leg, along with alcohol and chocolate,
Of seduction’s tripod.
It is an arrow in my quiver
to pierce
The reluctant heart of my intended lovers.
It is the smoke that obscures my ordinary features
By tearing the eyes
Of those who would otherwise
See me as bland and sexless.
It is the audible aphrodisiac
To tip the scales
In favor of passion
In those who feel no arousal
By my presence alone.
It muzzles those horrifying words
That are acid in every man’s ears:
“Can’t we just be friends?”
It is the surrogate
For animal magnetism.
It is the simultaneous exemplar
Of my emotional poverty and wealth,
Of my charity and greed.
It youthens me to women
Who conspire with me
To disregard our age gap.
It is the muscle flexed
By one who has to work
With the flimsy body
That Nature assigned me.
It is the rock jaw
For the chinless.
It is the grappling hook
To pull back lost attentions.
It is Love’s best lubricant;
It is KY Jelly.
And it doesn’t even have to rhyme.
(Now can I have your number?)
Three legs, one arrow, one heart, many lovers, at last poetry by number?
Poetry dons the invisible cloak that frustrates prose.
In the soundless dark it gathers ideas from high elevations,
dresses them in simple finery, and pumps them
with emotions siphoned from the heart.
Thorn, that is great! I wish I’d written it . . .R. T.
What is Poetry? By K.Katz
Poetry is the pinpoint on a map
A chalkboard erased
Sieving thru a filter
Or dumpster diving
Through treasures
Reconstructed
Flavored fantasies
That taste
Like seasoned temperaments
Clinging
To French salmon
…The ruby kind
Swimming Upstream
Waiting to mate
With an Adonis
For sheer pleasure.
Poetry,
Pouts
Prunes
Spitting out your insides
Before you’ve discovered
You’re just an ordinary woman with no bangs!