Where language, that awe-striking human innovation, still feels awesome, Daniel Ari finds himself—fascinated, frustrated, maddened, mesmerized. It's a flurry, a fracas, a free-for-all—a fight—with poems!
Flashback! Lately I've been pulling out older poems that never saw much light of day, but that I'm fond of. This poem circa 2009 is—okay, check out this concept: it's a movie review in rhymed couplets by the fictitious poet Maurnold X. Thurbin, a creation of The Filthy Critic. Many years ago—back in the 20th century—I wrote video reviews as Gooden Worsted in an alcove off of Filthy's site, which site garnered attention by making it into Rolling Stone and garnering nods from author Stephen King. Filthy's angle is that he uses a lot of profanity while delivering very incisive reviews that actually have a lot of integrity.
Gooden's angle was that every film rated between nine and ten stars, and all pans were backhanded.
Maurnold's angle was to be the rhymed couplets thing. This is the only prototype I wrote. I'd say you should go watch Bedtime Stories so you know what's going on in the review... but don't.
Maurnold X. Thurbin Pans Movies in Verse: Bedtime Stories
Going back into the oldish files for some poems that were lost in the pile. Here at least they'll breathe once more.
This poem came from a time when I'd nearly given up on poetry for the first time in 20+ years. With my daughter at 3 years old, and my career as a copywriter picking up speed, I was losing track of why I pursued the ephemeral art at all. But thanks to meeting Poetic Asides , I found a respark and have continued with the practice unabated ever since. 30 years now!
This poem is about us humans.
mucky bubbles we all are
monkey grace and dirt and arm,
into our tangled blankets
as massage—and thankless—
the airships of our dreams
through Moissanite ceilings,
our soiled gabardine
spoiled in rain and gasoline…
puddles rainbowed with feeling
as angels, but screaming,
stores of penny pranks,
ohms and ums and flatus...
of us born a stinky star
spark and choice and rice we are.
P.S. This is an "onion sonnet" where the center is a rhymed couplet, and the rhymes go outward from there, so that the first line rhymes with the last.