Struck by the artful British dodge of calling an ass an arse, I sunk to the low netherlands of this:
Arse Poetica
Epics chart a culture’s mind
in sprawls of history and wit—
their sweaty redolence warm wind.
The lyrics are much smaller songs
leaking just a little wind
perfuming feelings as they’re sung.
Dramatic verse can be perverse,
befoul the major players’ wind,
their offal smells a gagging curse.
An Arse Poetica, of course,
releases scents of artful will
as contrails of a flying horse,
Symbol of a poem’s source:
Pegasus of course, of course.
__________________
Ralph
Last edited by RCL; 12-16-2020 at 10:13 PM.
|