0. Intro 🚧
My favorite poem is the one that starts “Thirty days hath September” because it actually tells you something.
— Groucho Marx
Not heeding the stark observation by Groucho Marx—the one where he opines that poems are essentially useless by way of the words, “My favorite poem is the one that starts Thirty days hath September because it actually tells you something”—we’re going to dive feet-first into the ocean of rhyme. No, prose it not over-rated; it’s not that. It’s just that verse is under-rated.
And we are going to set the record straight by demonstrating that verse is an equal partner of prose. With that—and inviting you to peek at the image coming into view now, that of a ragtag, loosely scattered gold bricks—let’s dive feet-first into the ocean of rhyme, an offering of which follows the image.
1. In Full Candor, Then, The Poem Itself 🎨
Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Ember by Ember
Ember by ember, bit by bit,
Things warmed up, the fire was lit
Seared in the pit,
The words were writ
Bit by bit
Wit by wit
Slowly, mitt by mitt,
The essays were knit
Bit by bit,
Fit by fit
Bit by bit,
Lit by lit
All the same, hit by hit,
The essays became fit
Ember unto ember, hilt unto hilt,
The embers glowed, the fire had been lit
— Akram Ahmad (writer, blogger, software craftsman)