Poem by Karen margolis
The rhyme is the reason
für Thomas B.
the rhyme is the reason
it rings for itself
whatever the season
it sings for itself
it lifts the lead curtain to let in the day
and lights up the corners where silverfish play
it rings for itself
whatever the season
it sings for itself
it lifts the lead curtain to let in the day
and lights up the corners where silverfish play
the rhyme is the moment
where sword crosses pen
it eases the torment
of love now and then
it carries the words in a current so strong
that their force overpowers
and pulls you along
where sword crosses pen
it eases the torment
of love now and then
it carries the words in a current so strong
that their force overpowers
and pulls you along
the rhyme is the fortune
of poets in garrets
who harvest the wild moon
to stave off their debts
it warms up the room with a magical glow
and turns on the tap for the vision to flow
of poets in garrets
who harvest the wild moon
to stave off their debts
it warms up the room with a magical glow
and turns on the tap for the vision to flow
the rhyme is the purpose
the end in itself
it skates on the surface
and turns on itself
the end in itself
it skates on the surface
and turns on itself
it tangos and polkas and trips off the tongue
and hums in the memory after it’s done