Once there was a poem
That wanted to be read
But 7 billion people
Did something else instead.
If you are reading this
You make the poem smile.
It hopes you’ll come back again
To read it once in a while.
I am a man who’s mostly fluent
In most things some call “incongruent.”
If you don’t swallow, you shall spewn’t.
Also, I’m not Clyde.
I hope the intro set the scene
For me to tell you what has been;
This time’s the time I met my queen,
My once and future bride.
My eyes fell softly on the wench
Who sat backwards upon a bench,
Talking to a crescent wrench
About which bands were good.
I asked the lady, “How be it
“That you who speak to hardware sit
“With legs ensconced, I do admit,
“Within that bench of wood?”
She did not reply at first,
For my manners were near the worst,
And I, my oversight, then cursed
And then addressed the tool.
Now seeing that I understood,
She said “I’m trapped within the wood
“Because I wondered if I could.”
Now I felt like a fool
And so I left her trapped within
The bench where didst our tale begin,
For sitting backwards is no sin
But merely hard to grasp.
She’s still my queen and future bride,
For I speak truth and have not lied.
When she is free, and bathed beside,
Her body I will clasp.
For who better to share a life,
Who better to be made a wife,
Than one, though trapped, can feel no strife
Though physics she has broken?
And who, from her odd point of view
Can feel a love so strong and true
Than not Clyde, whose hair isn’t blue,
Who made her heart awoken?
This tale has a moral, yes,
So close your eyes and take a guess.
Your eyes are closed… how read you this?
Anyway, I boast
That this here incongruent verse
Tells you, dear reader, of my curse
And that there are things so much worse
Than a lazy, four-line post.
As the lightning cracked in the purple sky
And the cameras panned over my birth
My parents knew I was the guy
Who’d be destined to save the Earth.
So I was raised in the classic way
Of being a normal happy kid
Until, inevitably, bandits razed my town
Which, as expected, they inevitably did.
And so from the ashes a guardian rose
And took me to a school of hard knocks
Where I learned to be destiny’s hero
By killing rats with sticks and rocks.
And after cutscenes which showed me grow
I left the school to see the land.
My life’s tutorial now finished
My destiny could proceed as planned.
I started out slaying vermin,
Albeit on a grander scale.
I found gold left unclaimed on the ground
And used it to buy weapons and mail.
I learned to cast spells and fire a bow,
Though I never really did
Because the way to do so was complicated
And my life was controlled by a kid.
Eventually I was betrayed
And someone who I thought had died
Turned out to be the major villain
Who led the guys on the other side.
What should have been climactic
Turned quickly to a rout
Because somewhere I read a walkthrough
And I did what it talked about.
And so the banners fly again
And peasants chant my name.
I’m made the king of everything
But otherwise life’s the same.
My normal life took fifteen hours
Before I was the love of every bard,
But now my achievements dissapear
As fate clicks “new game, difficulty: hard.”
I bet that back in elder days,
When dragons roamed the sky
And virgins all got kidnapped
To be rescued by some guy
That said virgins played a game
Where, in a future land,
They were ordinary citizens
Who love they did demand
From virgins playing games
In which they acted like a knight
Rescuing imaginary virgins
Kidnapped by dragons. Am I right?
The time for meta poetry
Has come again it seems.
This blog, over the years,
Has become a thing of dreams.
That’s not to say it’s excellent
(Or even good, per se),
But that if life were like this blog
I’d be happy every day.
If consistency of talent
Were optional for work…
If people liked me purely
For my ability to be a jerk…
If things without a reason
At least would have a rhyme…
Yes, if life were like this blog
We would have a groovy time.
Amidst the inevitable collapsing
Of society in such a world
We would laugh and we would smile
As the universe unfurled.
Mediocrity would rule supreme
Were we to go that far,
And thus I’m moving to LA
To be a reality TV star.
So I had writer’s block again.
To Google I was bound.
I searched for poetry topics
And here is what I found:
“Abandoned, ablution, acrostic, adultery, affliction, Africa, aggravation, aggression.”
I don’t have a meaningful poem today
But that isn’t terribly bad.
I could have written about aggressive adulterous ablution
But would you be happier if I had?