The Perfect Foil
I made mistakes within this blog
Like one who trips while on a log
And falls into the waters, cold,
And gasps in shock, when body’s told.
I posted golden poetry
Of masters who wrote magic’lly,
Who scaled angelic heights in verse,
Whose lines we love, repeat, rehearse.
I’d set a gem like “Mandalay”
Into the necklace of a day
And follow with a poem of mine,
A stone that lay there next in line.
And side by side with “Pippa’s Song”
Or one of Shakespeare’s sonnet throng,
My little poem would upward glance
In awe, by contrast, in a trance.
So, if I’d thought, ere I began,
I could have had a better plan,
To put my poems in the best light,
Like stars are set against the night.
The poems I posted should have been
The rhinestone poems of modern men,
The prose that masquerades as verse,
That makes the public hide and curse.
And then, my rough attempts at rhyme
Would seem so brilliant, ev’ry time,
Put forth beside a perfect foil –
‘Gainst that which isn’t verse at all.
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.