POEMS ABOUT POEMS

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HOW SLOW CAN YOU GO?

By Jonathan Sellars

Read this poem sloooowly,

Just. Like. A. Tortoise. Might.

And if it takes you half a day

That means you’ve read it right,

 

Pretend that it’s a reading race

Where last place wins the gold,

Pretend that you’re a sluggish snail

Who’s very, veeeery old,

 

Imagine every word

Is

    a

        sloth

         that

      likes

               to

          creep,

But don’t read it tooo sloooowly

Or you might just fall aslee-

Zzzzzzzzzzz

The Poet, The Poem, and The Conveniently Named

By Jonathan Sellars

 

“Poetry is hard, it’s even harder when it rhymes.”

That’s what I was told by my old teacher Mrs Limes.

She said, “I’ve got one tip for you.” She said, “You’ve got to aim

To always give your characters the most convenient name.

A poet can waste lifetimes in the search for perfect rhyme,

So names that rhyme with subject matter save you so much time.

 

“For example, if the poem’s on the Franco-Prussian war,

Why not feature First-Lieutenant Paul-Patrice Le Core?

While if it’s on the fossils found in petrifying wood

I advise you have an expert with the name Professor Hood.

When writing little ditties on the Central Asian vole

Perhaps include two siblings known as Bill and Betty Cole.

And sonnets on the hornet-crested-speckled hummingbird

Would work so well with someone called Mick Mickelmick the Third.

For wigs use Chad de Biggs, for bees use Chad de Keys,

For water-borne disease I’d use a Chad de Van Der Tweeze.”

 

And then she quoted someone by the name of A.B. Booth,

“It’s the right of every poet to manipulate the truth.”

And the truth is that in fact I had no teacher Mrs Limes,

Her name was Gronkanpurple, but that doesn’t rhyme with rhymes.

A Poem Is A Part Of You

By Jonathan Sellars

 

A poem is a part of you,

The question is,

Which part?

 

For some

Their precious words

Are broken

Fragments

Of their

Heart.

 

While others

Share the thoughts

That swirl

Around inside their head,

Thoughts they can’t contain,

That will not go unsaid.    

 

But me

I guess I’m different,

I’m silly,

Foolish,

Dumb,

My poems are the parts of me

That plop out of my bum.