The Handmade Poem

Because I am no poet
this ode shall be sculpted
with handmade paper and malachite
and when the papyrus will fossilize
its lyrics shall be chiseled in 3D.

The drummed hammering
shall be its melody
with the notes cleaved
and for the rustling sound
use the flow of myriad marble dust.

And if the stanzas won’t hum right
they’ll be shattered chipped off
scraped instead of crumpled.
Well, all this visual
and aural circumlocution

is only in my mind because
there’s no more than a soft tap
when the apex of my finger
glides on the keyboard of the PC.
Sigh!

But maybe,
just maybe,
instead of sculpting
I should paint this poem
on handmade paper

in the way of Hiroshige or Mi Fei
who thinned down black ink
suiting it to necessary transparency
distinguishing
the astigmatic background

from the myopic forefront.
And for good measure
I shall sculpt this poem
in French and intersperse it
with a bit of Slav

like here and there
a da and a couple of niet
since most readers would know
those crucial words.
Then I shall sit in a lotus stanza

sigh…

and dedicate this poem
to water lilies
so when the paper
it is written on
is discovered

it will have completely
dissolved
with only stripped letters
floating down the stream
reforming fluid stanzas

worthy of the river’s
amorous curves.
I think it’ll be
a sculpture
gratifying the erotica
between water and clay.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2008
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poem by Alex Nodopaka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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