While attending an open mic night at a local art venue, one of the performers, before doing her first musical number, read a poem. I do not recall what the title of the poem was, nor does the poet’s name come to mind. The lady read the poem from a book, and she introduced the poem and its author with pride and conviction. So, I am sure that the poet must be well known to those in poetry circles.
The poet wrote about a moving event where the poet’s dog was looking at a tray of chocolate chip cookies. The poor creature looked at the poet with big, hopeful eyes and mouth agape, tongue hanging out in one of those pleading smiles that dogs are so apt to do. Occasionally, the dog would utter a begging whine and perform its own version of a soft shoe as she raised herself back onto all fours, prancing excitedly and turning circles. But, alas, it was not to be for, as the poet noted, chocolate is poison to a dog.
As I listened to the reading, I noted that something was missing. There was no rhyme to this alleged poem, nor was there a particular meter or rhythm to it. It was as if the poet sat down and poured out words onto the paper without giving it any thought, like a drunk man losing his lunch in the grimy restroom of a seedy bar. It was … free verse: the darling of poetry enthusiast everywhere.
Okay, before you cast aspersions me, have me tarred and feathered, and then crucified, let me assure that I value free verse as a poetic vehicle and form of expression. Who am I to argue with academia, the intelligentsia, and the public at large? Having no standard meter or rhyme scheme, free verse can still be an effective and beautiful form of poetry; and, as with any art form, it is really the vision of the artist that gives life to the expression, whatever form that expression takes. I have used what I suppose would be called free verse myself. One of my best poems, in my opinion, is titled “Free Fall,” which I wrote at a particularly low point in my life:
Come, Lord, \ Let her fall! \ Night from the heavens, \ She Envelops me \ In her somber light, \ While You sigh a knowing breath \ As Salvation fades from my sight; \ And I free-fall from a dizzying height. \ Lost at once to the sullen day, \ Hope’s an illusion of Your ethereal way.
Thinking back to he poem about the dog and the chocolate chip cookies, even though that poem wasn’t written with a particular meter, and I certainly don’t recall that very much rhymed in it, the poet still touched me, making an impression. I may have embellished some in my recall of the poem, but I remembered the dog’s anticipation as she eyed the chocolate chip cookies and the poet’s sorrow in not being able to share the cookies with the dog. Then, I wondered if there wasn’t some deeper meaning to the poet’s imagery presented in the poem. Perhaps the whole thing was a metaphor for the parent limiting their child’s video game time or use of some other electronic device. Either way, this poet has made a lasting impression on at least one person. And isn’t that the point of poetry?
