I was challenged to write a poem for someone who claimed to have never read or heard a poem that he enjoyed. This is the result.
So, you don’t like poems?
They don’t grab your attention?
You don’t appreciate the subtlety of an enjambment
Or the frailty of a perfectly sequenced iambic pentameter?
You don’t autonomously tap along with a crescendo rhythm
Or laugh heartily at a whimsical limerick?
Well, this one is for you:
There was a young man I know,
Who thought he’d give poems a go.
Well I’ll tell you straight,
You won’t get a date,
Until you rhyme like a poetical great.
Are you listening yet, yes?
Have I grasped your attention with this?
Help it in the palm of my hand like a God?
Abused it like a spotty geek abuses COD?
Twisted it round my freckled pinky
With my wonderful word play and whimsy?
Well, here’s the clincher;
Now I know that you said you don’t feel
That this poetry lark is for real,
So here is a ditty,
To make you feel pretty,
Hang on. That’s a bit too far; sorry sweetie.
So that’s it, the poem to grab your attention;
Challenge accepted, extended and delivered.
The wager is a dairy delight:
If you can honestly say that this ode
Did not float your boat,
Then revel in its chocolaty textures.
However, if you were in the least bit moved,
By the way I used the spoken word
Then the chocolate is mine,
To have and to hold, in sickness and in health,
Until my face devours it.
Here lieth the body of a lost generation,
Shrouded in weeds and Building Merchants refuse, to accompany the lilies;
A stark contrast from the beauty of Albert’s days.
Boxes and chambers of lost souls,
Stood upon by our lost youths,
Telling tales of ASBOs and thrust,
Remembering those lost to the next plastic lust.
Age old tombs for fathers four times removed,
Now pathways to the gluttonous binge.
So here’s to the VK Blue,
For it’s destruction of the new.
Gone is the respect for loved ones lost,
And theirs is the next grave, dug out in destroyed liver.
In loving memory of a gentleman’s age,
In the name of the Archers, the Rum and the unholy spirits.
Ashes to ashes, fags and dust,
We’ll remember you still,
Hatred behind a mask:
This is what the social world has descended to.
A keyboard warrior generation;
Trolling the vast spaces of the web to pick and scratch
Preying on the morality of someone else’s unfortunate reality.
Behind their pixel screen they wax lyrical on the topical
(Forgive the irony screaming from this page).
They believe in faceless crime,
No karma for harm caused.
They fight with ‘wrds ov h8’,
Forging illiterate empty threats.
They hail the corruption of free speech,
Illiciting pain from 140 characters.
But for once, I hope, they take a breath and pause,
For the suffering their words can cause,
Ends here, with a note to say:
Long live the responsible speaker,
Using voice to change the world, for the better.
Resonate your typing loud, to drown out the trolls of the underworld.
Fixate your thoughts on the construction of positivity,
To save the destruction of our social reality.