An Elegy for J. Alfred Prufrock.

As we know, the five of us,

J. Alfred was a private man.

We know of course what he wanted to be,

But how was he before the tricks began?

Did we all simply get to know

What had been measured out in spoons?

Did we all simply see the show,

He put on to make the ladies swoon?

But of course they never did,

And of course he always tried again.

Despite their lack of quality within,

Their shining wrists attracted him.

And now we know his bald spot was

Actually atop his head,

For all this time the common buzz

Was that it was below his skin.

As we lay him down to rest

With sawdust on his feet,

I cannot help but recall

What he once said to me:

He said, “You know I always thought,

I could just change one day,

I can be whomever I want,

The person I wish to convey”.

I told him, “J., do you not know?

They see right through your lies!”

And now you know what happens next:

After a deep sigh, he dies.

What is a Poem?

A story with meter and at times rhyme,

A creature climbing mountains in record time.

A landscape crowded with flowers and sun,

A tale that’s over before its begun.

A poem is a flower forever in bloom,

A poem can help tell you what to presume.

On beautiful nature or frightening Death—

Events that freeze your lungs or of your last breath.

A brisk read or one that can linger,

Endings sum up or they are cliffhangers.

A poem can leave you with sweat on your brow,

It can be read by all petals on the bough.

The basic premise is that we can learn,

Infinite lessons from a poet’s concern.

Appreciating each poet’s affliction,

Can help us to learn the supreme fiction.