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The Killer Poem
November 20, 2009
by Paul Stevens
One day I’ll write a poem so wild
It will knock you off your perch!
You’ll pick yourself up from the floor
Weak-kneed and cross-eyed, lurch
Towards me wailing, ‘I must have
That poet — give him to me!’
See, that’s why I write and write
And write this poetry.
Paul Stevens (MySpace page), formerly of Leeds and Harrogate, late of The Strand, has taken up permanent residence in the Seventeenth Century where he may be found at the Mermaid Tavern, roistering intemperately, waving a tattered copy of The Flea broadsheets.
Categories: Words of Power
Paul Stevens
qarrtsiluni 
O great word-rollicker: so glad you took off the Donnian winding sheet imprinted with tiny robots and rose to the occasion!
I shook out my skirts
and reached for my gun,
aiming to halt
your rogue poem’s run —
but what have we here?
My rifle now a net?
And hooves become wings,
your words wilder yet —
o, I will catch you,
seeking redress
for all the blood
your poem’s press
and thrust upon my sheets so unkindly left:
Where is the vow that could ransom such a theft?
Marly, I’m now posthumous! It’s very liberating.
Peg: Wow! Talk about a killer poem! That sonnet rocks! Just the net to snare the naughty beast.
Amen.
By the way, I meant that as a comment for the poem, not a response to the other comments.