Eight ways not to start a poem
after Anne R. Allen
I
This poem is a work of fiction. Any similarities
between this poem and the lives of persons
real or otherwise is purely coincidental.
II
Shall I draw lofty analogies between thee
and something that falls
just short of your transcendent quality?
Naw, Ima riff on the feels.
III
In sleep a vision came to me
and it went like this:
IV
It was a dark and stormy night, lights
aflicker, house atremble, ozone in the air
and iron on the tongue to feed
the prickle of gooseflesh
V
Alone I wandered amid my thoughts, wondering
and exploring my interior landscape.
VI
Peculiar child, prone to daydreaming
and embarrassment and occasional
bullying – pretend it’s happening
to someone else.
VII
A spotted moth, a yellow pencil, a ribbon
from the science fair, a tin pail and a dog
lying in the sun, the smell of fresh-mown
grass, a cell phone pinging in someone
else’s pocket, lions and tigers and bears,
oh my!
VIII
This is a poem about joy, dear
reader, and here is a metaphor for joy
followed by an unpacking or perhaps
belaboring of the metaphor to make sure
you don’t miss it.
2 thoughts on "Eight ways not to start a poem"
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Absolutely amazing!!!
I love love love this !!!
Jennifer perfect form for this
And perfect pacing.
You wicked, wicked woman! How you wound us, ripping the scanties off our most treasured opening gambits! How will we ever be able to write again?