So long story… There’s this topic I’ve been thinking about for months; this morning I found myself compelled to draft a post on it. Then this afternoon, I saw this poster which neatly sums up a metaphor I used in the post. (It may be up tomorrow maybe.) I searched for the full poem by Douglas Malloch, which is how I found myself on Poetry.com.

I noticed – they have a poetry contest? Which doesn’t have an entry fee? So this happened. Then I noticed there is an entry fee: $25. Then I remembered I actually have a website.
My rathers would place me
Underneath the night sky
In a distant place,
Communing with the higher self.
My betters would advise
Consulting the library shelves
To learn from their opus – opuses? Opii?
They also recommend night skies.
My whethers question the wisdom
Of typing at all, given the facts:
It is not night; my roommate is snoring;
The library is a ghetto now…
But whethers are boring. We’re here.
Ill-advisedly, but with excellent cheer
I shall write a poem.
I shall not mention Trump,
Except in passing.
This is neither a culture dump,
Nor a zeitgeist heist.
I will ramble, schemeless, on, until
This passing whim has had its fill
Of cheap, unpolished doggerel.
Gratefully, I behold a dawning metre -
But perhaps I startled it?
Perhaps like a quantum particle it
Collapses under observation?
We perservere, sans organization.
They say (I think they do; don’t they?)
Rhyming is so passé -
Perhaps… but it would help.
It would be a straw for the clutches
Of my drowning rationale.
But perhaps they
(If they do say) say right;
Bad enough that I use punctuation.
Quick note: italics are allowed?!
Dare we? But merely conceiving the thought
Banished the other for which I was reaching,
And now we welcome the passive tense?
I can hear the thunderous breathing
Of my common sense upon my heels;
The tape is scratching off the reel,
And the rhyming is back again.
And why do I capitalize every line?
Didn’t I stop that in 2018?
And whence the line ‘twixt meta and obscene?
Ah, yes, archaic contraction;
Bingo card complete.
Is the party over?
What do my nevers say?
…
They never say.
Good day.
Full disclosure: my roommate wasn’t snoring. I don’t have a roommate. I was alone at home.
Found a pretty good line for the bio on the submission form though: “I’m a graphic designer crawling toward a Comp Sci degree on a distant (distance?) platform. I usually stick to rudimentary shapes and icons – but in extraordinary circumstances, I evolve the power of language.”
By the way – from Poetry.com’s Contest Terms and Conditions, section titled ‘Copyright and Moral Rights’:
- You grant to us an exclusive, worldwide, royalty-free, perpetual and irrevocable license to copy, store, edit, distribute, transmit and publish your competition entries.
- To the maximum extent permitted by applicable law, you irrevocably and unconditionally waive your rights to be identified as the author of your competition entries and to object to any derogatory treatment of your competition entries.
Let’s inculcate the habit of reading (insert ‘praying hands’ emoji) the terms and conditions.
Good day.
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