Here are two poems that I’ve written about dead books. Both silly and serious. Which do you prefer? Please vote in the comments or on Facebook.
Poem One: My Book Died
“My book died,”
she simply sighed,
contemptuously cried.
“Whatever can I do,
while I charge it a few?
Take my horse for a ride?
Pretend I’m a tour guide?
Learn how to make a roux?
Color a paper blue?”
She took the setback in stride–
and grabbed her iPhone wide-eyed.
All of the choices eschewed–
just to turn her brain to goo.
Poem Two: Dear Amazon,
Dear Amazon Maker of the Kindle,
This book is dead
she said
It can no longer be read
or Red
just Blue
rather depressing
like blue cheese dressing
(when you wanted raspberry vinaigrette)
like blew pages shut
(but there aren’t any–no time for vignettes)
like blows to the gut
I have to
charge it up
cheer it on
choke it off
No wonder it’s Blue.
Never Red
Never read
Never dear
Like flipping through the tangible pages
Like smelling them as they turn through ages
ever dear
Ever Read,
Forever Red.
Mrs. Ram's Jams 