The confluence of spare time and nourishment from my Muse has become, it seems, impossible.It is not so often that I will admit this: I have withered as a poet and been rejuvenated as a prose writer. But in anticipation of the just concluded Bitter Sweet recital by the Lantern Meet of Poets, I had to muster what poetic-strength I had left to write something, anything!
The following poem was the outcome. It was written to be performed.
Plundering perplexing palpitations pylon-high pile
Plying prime primeval ports like panthers in prance –
Portent in pure purpose, persistent in ploy.
I pause, purporting poise, to ponder this perturbation.
Like on divine pedestal, toward me she propagates,
Pride possessions pulsating in phase like pawpaws,
Curved perfect posterior pitched in epileptic parade.
She smiles and promises relief for pitch black plight,
Laughs with pricking eyes to preach endless possibility.
“Pardon me, kind passerby, where is Police?”
What ill-humoured Psyche permits such puppetry?
What power have I to prevent this persuasion?
Perhaps I shall promptly proceed to point her to Police.
Perhaps, if she pleases, I shall play gallant Prince –
Propose my protection for her procession to that place.
Perhaps this plot portends vile Hell or paradise.
Perhaps I don’t know – don’t care to partake this poison.
Perhaps I’ll be pleased and passionate prisoner!
Pardon me, fine passerby, I please to enter prison!
So, does pressure make diamonds?