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Author Name: Freebluefish 1 Comments
Date Added: September 03, 2004 07:09:41 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Category: Inspirational Add To Favorites | Text Only
 
Deconstructing A Camel





We stalk poems in the field of verse
the teacher helps us learn to hunt
with nets of well woven knowledge.
We search to entrap our scurrying prey.
We catch poems of every genre.
We put them in bell jars
& scribble on the labels in scientific block letters,
their phylum & species:
Tanka, Elegy, Ode,
Canto, Limerick , Haiku, Lay,
Free Verse, Sestina, Sonnet....
i caught a poem with uncertain classification,
i was unclear about the lineage of its poetic heritage
or the gender of its rhyme.
So i took it back to school
hidden in the pocket of my coveralls.
We drown the other poems we caught
in our bell jars with textual classifications
& dissect them with our Apollonian diagrams,
& count their feet :
Mono, Di, Tri, Tetra
Penta, Hexa, Octa, Nona
& then examined each foot:
Iamb, Trochee, Anapest
Dactyl, Pyrrhic, Spondee.

Then we dissemble the molecules of their scansions
& excise enjambed organs,
& filled our notebooks with our discoveries & recitations.
But still i keep the poem i caught hidden in my top pocket
& felt it rustle between my heartbeats.
i will never dessert you to dissection my odd little child...
When the bell rang and the school day was ended
i carried you home in my pocket
& i placed you in a shoe box & placed it beneath my bed
with a small gap in the lid...
Then later that night in moonlight,
you wiggled free from the box while i lay on the bed.
i listen as this poem trilled & twittered
Then  fluttered up the white washed walls
& sang its title & its name:
"A Unicorn From The World Next Door"
so i could sleep i tucked this calligraphed creature
between the pages of my grandfather's bible.....
The next day at school
the teacher asks me if i caught a poem yesterday afternoon
"You don’t want to get a goose egg
in the grade book do you."
"No," i said "i caught a poem."
i did this because i was frightened of viral zeros.
(Whoever invented them must have been a sadist.)
But i enshrouded it between the leaves of a gentle tome..
i had to switch the poem during breakfast to an authorized school book.
My geometry book seemed to be the perfect place to hide a poem....
She said, "Could I see it?"
So i showed her the oddly pretty poem.
We count the stanza of its two wings,
& marveled at the beauteous interweaving of metaphors on its membranes.
We drew in our field books the strange symmetries;
we found flowing in the poem's unusual exquisite complex innards.
We counted it feet & lines
& then we dissembled
its quatrains, aphorisms, apothegms & similes
at the end the teacher
had pinned it down with her sharp Aristotelian pins
on the grinning chalkboard.
The poem stops fluttering against the stinging shards of criticism.
as the class laughs as all the strange connectives seem to become unknotted.
Unwrapped by clever claws of that invisible little kitten of education.
The teacher looks at me & says:
"Well class this one is a little clumsy."
Nobody believes in Unicorns or Amazons, do they?"
"What do you think of the hackneyed
turn of phrases, or its trite appositions, cliché progressions?
Superfluous verbiage, jumble perception, & its ideolectic images?"
No one raised a hand to answers this string of venomous questions.
 
"A little below the average? Is it not?"
But I suppose I will give you extra credit for quirkiness..."
She brands the poem with a red C+ right on the side of its hide.
As the poem dies expiring on the chalk stained board
the images drip with  similes & metaphors from the wounds
then  as the poem dies the ampersands, i's,
& u's drop out of the center of  its eyes,
Then this ephemeral creature meets its cruel end---
parchment crumpled  discarded on the floor...
My fingers tremble & feet shake,
as the words & tropes drop out of the poem,
like a ruptured piñata,
in end stopping line making a beeline to my desk.
Slowly these blessed words
 soak through my ears.
Into the measureless tunnels of my soul.
So nameless & inexpressible
that even a teacher's yardstick could not reach there...
& i feel  the strange contents of my soul
flow out the gleaming buttons of my eyes
through the transparent  pigeon-holes
which like the invisible whorls of black holes
lie in the four corners of the classroom
& captures all imagination
in the dark muddle of caveats.
Oh poor Creativity pulled down & truncated
 in the joyless singularities of lesson plans.
My soul feeds from the passage of this poem
& sprouts wings & gives me strength & room for illumination.
Wisdom flies free from the chains of captious rubrics.
If you deconstruct a camel thin enough
whether it has one lump or two
bite by bite you will soon discover
that even someone with small teeth..
Could swallow this poor sliced up beast
Bit by bit
down the kaleidoscopic labyrinths of consciousness 

Then these poor awkward segments are free to roam
Through sublime portals
Where innumerable unicorns morph in the tiaras of crystal snowflakes.






Author's Notes:
I am still working on this.
Report Offensive Poem.

'Deconstructing A Camel' Copyright © Andrew Rymill
Copyright is property of the above author or group. Reproduction in whole or in part is strictly prohibited.
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Comments:
Comment By: FreeHeike on September 4, 2004 06:09:06 PM Report
Very thoughtful and inspiring poem, it left a mark. Will have to read this some more times to grasp everything... Best wishes, ~Heike




 


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