A poem

Back when I taught 12th grade Rhetoric, one of my classroom “party tricks” was to have my students tell me about an assignment for their British Literature class (which immediately followed mine). Then, in the last 20 minutes of class, I would whip up something to fulfill the assignment. I was a bit of a show-off.

I recently rediscovered one of my efforts, and hereby share it with the world (the line “like a blizzard in September” was required, and it was supposed to use a roughly Anglo-Saxon alliterative meter).

Cookies are blessings     when carefully crafted,
stuffed chock-full     of chocolate chips,
oatmeal-laden,     luscious and warm.
But other kinds     are killers of soul,
wierd and baneful     like a blizzard in September,
an inversion of order,     orc-like and evil
which substitute raisins,     squishy vine-candies,
lying, treacherous,     treasonous lumps,
deceiving the guileless     guiltless mouth-filler,
bringing tears,     tearing away joy.


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