A superfluity of incongruity

O lucky modern poets, freed at last
from manacles of metre, chains of rhyme,
free to explore the natural rythms of speech
(which we hear everywhere and all the time)
invigorated by subtle cadences,
the lilt of intense feelings crafted to reach
more sensitive intelligences.
And as for that old-fashioned full-on rhyme -
who wants their dazzling landscaped flowers
trampled down by ugly clomping boots ?
(Though laymen might think near-rhyme more a crime.)
And no more boring repetition of verses
now that lines can be stopped
anywhere
                 for visual effect
and novelty of
                       s                  s
                         u             e
                            r        s
                              p   i
                                r
But all the usual prosaic tricks
can be exploited as before -
alliteration, rhetoric
and obscure figures of speech for sure.
This isn't merely tennis without nets;
why be constrained by all those cramping lines ?
Away with Tyranny ! You owe no debts
to generations of poets from earlier times.
What you've discovered and they failed to see
is that the nub of poetry is imagery.
But then prose writers do use imagery too
so you as poets really have to do
better meaning more illuminating yet
often degenerating to what is easier -
originality, appropriate or not.
For what is new may not be insightful
but only some unusual combination
of ideas or words in juxtaposition.
What gains the prizes and the muted fame
must meet the standard of your bizarre game.
Although superior to most pop lyrics
and clearly better than manic rapping,
it calls to mind those crazy quotes from Zen -
what is the sound of one hand clapping -
itself ?

Often at night when I go to bed
I don't fall asleep at once
although I'm sometimes really dead
tired and just like a dunce
repeat the same old thoughts in my head
over and over in silence.

So I lie there thinking of counting sheep
and next thing I'm waking up.
I can never remember falling asleep
although a determined striver
and if dying is somewhat like falling asleep,
I'll probably not remember that either.

Wiping your bottom

This lady thinks the other one disgusting
because she wipes her bottom with her hand
but that one thinks the first is much too trusting
in toilet paper of whatever brand.

For surely it seems obvious dry tissue
won't clean all faeces from a soiled skin;
the film of germs remaining is an issue
which she thinks only washing can get clean.

But water on its own is not sufficient
to clean both skin and soiled fingers too;
so what we need is something more efficient
and that of course is soap as well you knew.

So first you wipe with paper (use your left hand ?)
and then, with naked fingers, wash with soap;
more paper dries your anus and your cleft, and,
with hand well-washed, you're quite germ-free ( you hope ).

"Alright", you say, "I take the point.
But why discuss such sordid things?"
Just an example of the way
we let our different up-bringings
divide us when we should subdue
each culture's narrow-mindedness.
Better to let intelligence
decide our values and progress.

I never explored recreational drugs,

nor even smoked one cigarette,

and think those that do
are the dumbest of mugs

and only deserve what they get.