Poetry Month

Following the lead of many, many others, I’ll offer one of my favorites, from my favorite poet, Mark Strand.

Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

There’s another I’d offer, one for the girl at my school upon whom I harbor a quiet crush, but those are best kept private and close.

Poetry Month

4 thoughts on “Poetry Month

  • April 14, 2005 at 1:00 pm

    A long-time favorite of mine, which I have nonetheless not thought of in awhile. Thanks for reminding me.

  • April 15, 2005 at 7:58 am


    I will share one as well.


    There once was a man from Nantucket
    Who’s…(oh I guess I should probably not post the rest)

    Just a bit of potty-mouth army poetry for ya, there.

  • April 15, 2005 at 1:36 pm

    C’mon, Rob, that one’s not potty-mouthed at all:

    There once was a man from Nantucket
    Who kept all his cash in a bucket
    His daughter, named Nan,
    Ran off with a man,
    And as for the bucket, Nantucket.:-)

    Now if you want potty-mouthed poetry, there’s this wonderful example. But the best example ever of a hilariously raunchy poem? The Miller’s Tale. No contest.

  • April 18, 2005 at 6:04 pm


    It sits… the friendly frog,
    On the red velvet couch,
    Waiting to hop out of the window;
    It sits…the friendly frog,
    With grand Pa, next to it.

    It leaps… the friendly frog,
    Into the warm air of the sitting room,
    Enjoying its high flight;
    It leaps… the friendly frog,
    Into grand Pa’s yawning mouth.

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