Mincing Words...

A poet friend of mine, Frank James Davis, (should you care to have a read of his writing too)  who I met through reading his writing on Hello Poetry had an interesting reaction to the following poem which I had written in response to a challenge to incorporate given words.  The poem is as follows:

Final Rest

 

Here lies my body
my life-long shell.
Worked through the grind
and finally fell.

Lying postmortem
on this cold table.
The reaper calls,
"Come, you are able."

An undertaker prepares
to hammer the stones
Of my final resting place
sepulcher for my bones.

Resting in pieces
all through the years.
Time washes away
lost memories' tears.

4/24 New Words: grind, hammer, undertaker, postmortem, sepulcher

 

 He had the following reaction to this poem:

 

Frank: This poem really bummed me out, Judy. What's the sense of doing anything?--in eternity's scheme, we're already just a bunch of forgotten bones.
Let me give you a few new words to work with: don't, ever, write, anything, so, damned, depressing, again.   (Technically, a great poem.)

 

Well I couldn't just let it go at that.  So I wrote another poem using his given words.  And it goes as follows:

In the Name of Cheerfulness

 

So, let's see, cheeriness personified.
Damned if I can think of anything depressing.
Again and again, my mind goes on ever and ever,
In search of that infernal lightening rod
To which the dark and dreary are attracted.
And yet, butterflies and billowing clouds,
erupt magnificently in full bloom.
Hiding in the nooks of my cranium,
fluffy bunnies and poofy flowers.
Anything really, to while away the hours.
And so I write about grand battles,
frogs on crack, and ladies in your lap.
Seems this perky cheeriness is infectious....

A wink and a nod to my friend Frank. ;)

© 2011 Judy Ponceby

 

 Apparently this response to his reaction was very unexpected, and I really enjoyed his comments on this poem a great deal. :)

 

Frank: Wow! I'm not only genuinely flattered, I'm truly amazed! You somehow turned my nonsense into something wonderful.  If I could choose how people thought of me, I would be sincerely honored if it were exactly what you put in this poem. Thank you, Judy. I couldn't be more pleased.

 

And then later on in another comment to the same poem:

 

Frank: Just thought I'd re-review this poem because I'm a narcissistic son-of-bitch and I really love it. Who needs Shakespeare?--that circumlocutious old windbag; this is poetry! 

 

To say the least I truly enjoyed his reactions.