No More Than Pen and Ink

The court was full upon the day
When evil was revealed
When wrongful sentence came to play
And poem’s doom was sealed
The sound of wood on wood was heard
The gavel struck the bench
“To order! To order” the judge averred
Exuding evil stench
The accused just shook their heads and sighed
and resigned to sit their place
“Bring on the charges,” the judge decried
“and hurry on this case”

The poets rose and made their plea
“By choking rules
and restricting lies,
The accused have slain our work
We cannot make up anything
Within their hateful scheme.
For Rhyme has sing-song voice
And Meter robs the choice of words
But neither has done more harm
Than Abstraction: who is the very worst”

“The charges are made. How do you plead?”
The judge did gravely ask.
Rhyme then struck a pose and cried:
“Innocent, as you would cede
If you would but take a look
For when my use is proper
You’ll find I sound aright.
You’re the only one to blame
If I end up sounding trite.”

Meter shook his head and gave a bitter laugh:
“These charges are not funny
Though the semblance of a joke
There are too many words
For even you to quite exhaust
The words you chose: the picture
I only give the frame.
Is it the frame’s fault alone
If the picture is no good?”

Abstraction merely sat in dream
Abstractly feeling all
But seeing not a thing
At last he stood with courage
“What could be worse than these?”
He gave a dreadful laugh
“Stolen choice and ruined words
Such evils I have never seen
Of what, pray tell am I accused.
I cannot answer shadows,
Nor go to death for nothing.”

The judge now stood, his face gone red
“The charge was clear enough you’ll see
To sentence you to death.”
He turned to face the jury
“What have you found, my friends?”

The rumpled poets rose.
“We find that these accused,
Are guilty on all accounts.
No mercy should be given them,
They must pay for all their sins.”
The gavel fell once more,
“Guilty!” the call did echo ‘round
“We have found them guilty, as they were charged”
The judge declared
And sentenced them to death.

And so fell poem’s doom
In the same court where cliché was tried,
Where he too faced his ‘crimes’
There Rhyme and reason were thrown out
And meter torn to shreds
And no-one there did notice
Abstraction slipped their grasp.

Notes:

I originally wrote this poem about six years ago. At the time I was involved in a young writers support and critique forum (on Orson Scott Card’s website) where the poetry section was full of whiny emo kids pretending they knew something about poetry and trying to tell everyone else not to try to be good because they couldn’t be. They complained any time someone dared strive for the excellence of actually rhyming, holding to a metrical scheme or *gasp* writing a poem. In a fit of annoyance I cranked out the Death of the Rhyming Poem, which remains to this day my commentary on contemporary poetry. It is the longest poem I have ever written and oddly enough the first poem I ever wrote that did not rhyme.

Since then I have continued to polish it up. Though it remains essentially the same, it has become smoother, more focused and has come to rhyme for some of its run. The rhyme scheme now intentionally breaks down as the trial progresses and the sentence is about to come to pass.

Like a rope life unwinds
like a ship she embarks
with sail unfurled
no guiding maps or marks

sometimes like a dancer
nimbly flying o’er the floor
sometimes grimly marching
like an army gone to war

she shows us many faces
as she carries us along
joker, terror, mother
and not a face awrong

she is every thing to every one
and different every time
the greatest perfect poem
with people-words to rhyme

always rushing onwards
through every hill and bend
so little time to ponder
before we hit the end

all words convene,
collect in one place
all knowledge beating
in one open chest

rows upon rows of leather-bound bricks
in halls collected: piled up in walls
sorted and stashed, made easy to find
a labyrinth designed to keep knowledge in

shrouded in silence, sophie sleeps.
guardians of knowledge are swift to repress
the least breath of sound
lest she startle awake and retreat

from those seeking wisdom
to overcome tasks
set before them by
stewards of truth

Sometimes seen between the trees
a flash of reddish brown
he fleetly dances through the brush
he wears the trickster’s crown

at first he’s seen and then he’s not
gone without a sound
the scent is caught, the hunt is off
every horse and man and hound
plowing through the forest
smashing leaf and stick to ground

but the quarry is a master
he knows his kingdom well
he leads a merry party
through forest hill and dell
they grow weary bearing forests cuts
their dogs soon loose the smell

so another band pretending
mastery of the land
is outwitted and eluded
by a creature ‘much less grand’

Audio: Heart of Fire

I was given into darkness
following the lord of night
in the cold hard lands of blackness
dark is more then lack of light.

stealing, lying, taking, burning
cursing all with every breath
never fearing, never learning
life is more then lack of death.

a heart of fire set me free
my master, lord and fate
cleansing eyes so I can see
love is more then lack of hate.

Darkness danced before my eyes
And I refused to see it
Telling tales and telling lies
And I, I did believe it

I might not always be faithful
but in the end I’ll always return
the others might be easy
but your perfection
more than warrants the work