This is how we write a poem:

This is how we write a poem:

Sit down at the table,
Turn on the computer,
Watch out for the cable,
Start your thought-diluter.

Close your eyes a minute,
Chase your thoughts around,
Throw one down and pin it,
Hold it on the ground.

Think about it some,
A pretty metaphor,
Make comparisons,
Expressions help for sure.

Wrestle with it now,
Squeeze out one last ounce,
Tell it this is how,
You make a rhythm bounce.

Check in a thesaurus,
It’s up there on the shelf,
Compose a clever chorus,
This poem won’t write itself.

Now that you are done,
Check it for mistakes,
Leaving some for fun,
Poetic license makes.

And if it is too dense,
Or so abstract it hurts,
Just kill it to make sense,
Language must come first.

Your thought may now be dead,
Or at least full of dents,
Because it’s left your head,
To become mere reference.

Don't Clap Yet

No, please, don’t applaud,
I’m still waiting for the director’s nod.
You decide to like me before I begin
But only I know where my head’s in.

(Pause)

No, stop, I’m still speaking,
The light’s turned off but the windows are leaking
The door’s shut tight but there’s sound coming through
Said I want some peace and quiet; what’s a girl got to do?

(Pause)

No, please, don’t clap yet.
My tongue just seems to have run out of wet

(Drinks water)

Ahh, there, that’s better
Drinking lots of water makes my throat feel wetter
Running every morning makes my bones stick out
That’s how come I got some mirrors all about

(Pause)

No, wait, I’m still not done.
I figured you’da waited ‘til you’d had some fun,
Never had a teacher that impressed me much,
--Least in the school where they read books and such.

(Pause)

Just sit down for a little bit longer
A lot of conversation makes our friendship stronger
All kinds of reasons why I need you here
I need to meet some people, have a life, a career.

So who are you folks?
You came to see me sing a song, tell some jokes?
What about you and your thoughts and what matters?
Spill your hearts to me; I don’t mind the splatters.

(Pause)

There you go; now you’re listenin',
Was gettin' kinda’ nervous; forehead was glistenin’,
It’s not easy stuff with this noise and these lights,
Was gettin’ kinda’ lonely for my quiet, black nights.

(Pause)

What? I gotta go?
That's what he said, director of the show,
I guess it’s all done—least for today,
I’ll just thank you all for coming and be on my way.

Infantile Ian: A Folk Song

Ian, don't you cry,
I know a lullaby,
To send your nothin'
Worries to the moon.

Your claims are infantile,
And you're filled with such denial,
So Ian won't you
Listen to this tune:

Let me pacify you, Ian,
I don't understand you bein'
Such a sorry, suckered, pitied guy.

Your friends have all stopped callin' you,
And your woman, she done left you too,
But you never take the time to wonder why.

You worry that the sky might fall,
And if your soup gets cold at all,
You bellyache and cry and fuss around.

But they must be crocodile tears,
'Cause for all your infantile years,
You musta' learned to look somewhere but down.

Oh infantile Ian, honey,
Your point of view just ain't so sunny,
You see the world in all your mixed up ways.

Count your blessings, not your sorrows,
Thank the Lord for your tomorrows,
Don't curse 'em like you do your yesterdays.

Don't curse 'em, like you do your yesterdays!