"One of most maligned and abused means of communication has to be poetry," said Jack, as he sat up in his chair.
The partially obscured moon lightly filled the cottage with enough to see the outline of chair, table, and window.
"Verse is one of those vehicles which are taken for granted," said Jack, as he sighed thoughtfully out the window.
The sound of a snoring dormouse audible through the open window gently distracted Jack as he continued.
"It is so much easier to write prose," said Jack, "simply because of the lack of rigor."
The chair creaked noiselessly as Jack resituated; he straightened as the extended footstool retracted.
"Of course, the nice thing about rigor," said Jack, "is that structure can inspire creativity."
...
Beschdel and the dolphin Martha daily went to seek
of wonders tall and long and thin, as much as they could boast
They took some tea, drank on moonlit scree
as they took in dale and coast
Beschdel glanced at the pale, pale moon
As Martha swam in the night
'Midst well-lit dune and runsible loon
What a wonder to see a surfing 'fin
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
'Midst well-lit runsible loon
Martha squeaked to the fair Beschdel, 'How far do we go?
Our travels bring us to dry lands
Through desert trails and stone caravans.
And what shall we do for a map?'
As Beschdel tarried, through glen and a cave
They arrived at a stream with a door
And there at the knob stood a runcible cob
With a silver kernel at its northern most edge
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
With a silver kernel at its southern most edge
Beschdel knocked three times, three times
And the wind whistled drily to Martha
Three moments passed and the door opened fast
Bright light from the door nearly blinded
They stumbled on through as most wanderers do
Martha rose from her watery path
And swam through air with the greatest of ease
As she flew by the light of the stream
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
As she flew by the light of the stream
In the air Martha swam through strangely-lit land
on the other side of the door
And by her side, Beschdel laughed, danced and cried
'We roam, so far and deep and wide!
We've seen leaves on runcible trees
Eaten marshmallow berries galore
But this fair eve, I'm taken aback
As the air reminds me of my home shack.'
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
'Reminds me of my home shack.'
On the other side of the lavender sea
Martha and Beschdel found a door like a tree
with bits as twigs and leaves and a bough
the size of an elephant and but half as loud
Martha swam through air and knocked
three times, as before, three times, no more
And after three moments the tree became jar
enriching the land with light from afar
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
The land with light from afar
Seeing her home shack quite safe and adjacent
A near cousin to their miraculous sand
And watching her friend's joy as lighter than air
Martha swimming at eye level without care
Beschdel said, "Come, let us roam a bit more
for we may find other doors off yonder shore'
As owl called
And pussy-cat bawled
And turning, the door tree closed.
...
"Of course, given how short verse can be," said Jack, as he opened his eyes. "The challenge is completion."
A soft, sweet wind carrying the scent of lavender passed Jack's nose as it left the cottage.
Eyes raised, Jack said "And the flip-side is the expectation of layering."
Laying down his pipe, Jack wearily closed his eyes.
"So verse can be a form of freedom or a trap," said Jack, "because its easier to fail at execution."
Turning toward the wall, Jack looked in the mirror.
"Find your lavender sea," said Jack, as he winked.
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