by Mary Clark

Created on: January 11, 2009

Humor and poets rarely make a good mix but when they do come together, absurdity expressed in poetic prose can be magical and oh so therapeutic. Unfortunately, most poets take poetry and the fine art of wordsmithery far too seriously for their own good. They have adopted a reputation easily defined as stuffy and archaic, and one that few bards have dared to breach. However, just for a moment, imagine what we could accomplish with a little comedy around to offset the natural tragedies and disappointments that life will inevitably serve up.

Think of the ways that we could use our silver-tipped tongues to cut loose with a few clever rants when things manage to worm their way under our skin causing us major irritation for what others view as apparently minor infractions. It is after all our gift, so why not use it to our full advantage.

Take for example the simple act of going to your doctor's office. The next time that you find yourself waiting a half a day, or god forbid more, to see your doctor and your patience with him has reached a new high, why not slip him a poem instead of his payment. His blood pressure may rise; in fact, it will probably sky rocket and blow the top out of his antiquated, mercury-filled spygmomonometer. On the other hand, your precious blood will flow at a nice, leisurely pace. Your pressure will be at an all time low and you will walk out of his office feeling better than you have in years, all without the need of some doctor's prescription for a chemically induced sense of well-being.

As you leave, smile, offer up a genuine "good day" as you slip a voided check with a message similar to the one below neatly scripted on the back.

Paid, In Full View

Time granted this scan of your lower left waiting region;
it uncovered your dust bunnies and structural abnormalities
amid the wasted movement of second hands that circumvent
your empirical, though decaying ticker.

The shock of static resonance from impatiently pacing the floor
discovered an over abundance of septic compositions
seeping from the filth of unfiltered ceiling tiles.

Streaming through smudged glass, radiant rays mark the spot
where death claims life, tick by dreadful tock.
Within sight of your scope, your lambs linger without will.

Rehabilitation will be costly, but not as costly as this consult.

When we can begin to poke fun at our craft, we may also begin to unlock the door to mastering our art.

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