Iamb what iamb

Good morning, friends, it’s good to see
You came to spend some time with me.
This Day of Leap is very rare,
And so I thought it best to share
An exercise in writing verse
With you (for better or for worse).
With four iambic feet per line,
These are the thoughts of Peter Klein.
I’m testing whether I can tell
My stories even somewhat well
While sticking to da-DUM da-DUM
Or if these parts don’t have a sum.
I’ll make a deal with you and say
The next time that this extra day
Occurs on Friday (when I write),
It too shall be in verse. Alright?
(That’s in two thousand thirty-six,
which nicely rhymes with “dirty tricks.”)
The deal is set, and now I pause
To share with you this project’s cause:

Before I go to sleep, I find
That reading slows my active mind.
It does it rather quickly too
(In sometimes just a page or two).
Well recently, my book of choice
Has been “Ulysses” by James Joyce.
(Just kidding folks, for that immense
Majestic work is far too dense.)
In truth, the book’s “The Golden Gate”
By Vikram Seth (pronounced as “Sate”).
I’ve read it once or twice before
But recently desired more,
So that’s the book I’ve been perusing
Almost nightly. It’s amusing
The length of time a book can take
When one is only half-awake.

Why do I like “The Golden Gate”?
In short: Because it’s fucking great.
Here’s my official book review:
“What Mr. Seth set out to do
Was write a book - in sonnet form!
This concept – so outside the norm,
Came way too easily for him.
To entertain this crazy whim
Is bold enough, but he succeeds
With mastered crafting and exceeds
All laid out expectations.” So,
It’s good enough, I’ll have you know
That when I lay my hands upon it,
I drink in every kick-ass sonnet.

A strange phenomenon occurs
Right after sleepy vision blurs
The pages of the book. In bed,
My body's weary, but my head
Continues with iambic meter.
Though half-asleep, I think, “Oh Peter,”
But it’s too late, the beat goes on,
And so I play along – a pawn
Within this game of rhythmic chess.
Resigned to simply acquiesce,
I close my eyes and hear the beat,
Of four iambic metric feet.
And then, as if machine-controlled,
Atop the beats, some words unfold:
“I'm curled up beside my dear,
And wait for sleep to join me here.
And if it doesn’t happen soon,
More coffee in the afternoon
Will surely help me stay awake.
Unless caffeine is a mistake.”
The words are different every night,
And often the meter’s not quite right,
But still this process does the trick,
And sends me off to sleep. And quick.

Some theories say iambic feet
Are like a heart’s consistent beat
(lub DUB, lub DUB), but in my head
It’s closer to a train instead:
A steady, mechanized sensation
‘Til it ceases at its station.
Perhaps the repetitious beat
Is more like footsteps down a street
At night with no one else around,
When shoes create the only sound.
Regardless of the metaphor,
This beat’s supposed to echo more
Than others and be more aligned
With what’s inside the human mind.
I always thought it was b.s.
But now I have to second-guess
That theory since it resonates
So much with me as it creates
A mental wave that’s tough to shake.
If you’re intrigued and want to take
A stab at reading something fine,
Just search for “Vikram Seth” online.
You’re scared of Amazon.com?
Then I can lend it to you (Mom).

I’m switching topics, but I’ll try
To keep this verse thing going. I
Don’t know how long it’s gonna last
(the need for rhymes just comes so fast),
But here we go. I have a thought
Or two that recently have caught
My eye (or ear), and so I'll share.
Well, as you know, I often care
More than I should about a word
Or phrase or lyric. Well, I heard
A sports reporter somewhere say
“The Maple Leafs are gonna play…”
I tuned the other team name out
And couldn’t help but think about
Why “Leaf” was pluralized as such.
Is saying “Leaves” instead so much
More difficult? It’s not to me.
I do say some things differently
Or even wrongly (truth be told).
I don’t think I’m alone. If polled,
I think the vast majority
Of you would find that you agree
With what I’m putting out there. So,
Look down, now right. Ah, there you go.
That thing you move along the screen,
Or, well, controls that thing, I mean,
It’s called a mouse, we all agree,
But what would two of those things be?

I know that I say “mouses” there

Instead of “mice.” And I’m aware
That “mice” is probably correct
(Which makes me wrong). Do you object
To my assessment of this word?
Please comment. Let your voice be heard.

In that last section, I recalled
A poem I wrote that since has crawled
Into the caverns of my brain
That store odd things and keep me sane.
This one came up because it too
Was like this post in front of you:
In couplets, rhyming ones like these.
I’d like to share a few – a tease
Of sorts, I guess, if you’ll permit.
But first, I’ll share the name of it.
I called it “Prose and Cons” and talked
About Islamic faith in locked-
Up prisoners and how a man
Could find his peace in the Koran.
(Qur’an, I mean. I realized
My version’s super-anglicized.)
The poem was very light in tone
With puns galore to make you groan
(as I am known to do at times)
And humorous attempts at rhymes,
Like: “Frank, who now goes by Shabbaz,
Says it’s the best book that he has.”
The couplet format worked out well
And matched the cold bars of the cell.
Not really, that’s too convoluted.
Here’s how that exercise concluded:
“And so with Allah as my God,
I’ll write more soon. With love, Ahmad.”
I’m sure if I were looking for
The poem, I’d find it in some drawer
Or unpacked box with other sheets
Of quirky thoughts. And this completes
My talk on poetry of yore.
(I aim to please, and not to bore.)

A radio commercial pissed
Me off and made it on my list
Of things that anger me. (It’s long,
But when an ad strikes me as wrong,
Regardless of the product’s worth,
It makes its Peter’s Hate List berth.)
This hotel chain was proud to say,
“We wash our bedding EVERY DAY!”
I’m shocked that, A: they found it rare
Enough to feel the need to share
This news as something cool. And B:
That some hotels might not agree
With that amount of water use.
I’m willing to let that abuse
Of energy exist (or lest it
Mean my bed is germ infested.)
It’s kinda like a fast food joint
Who pays a lot to make the point
That NOW they only use real meat.
So what’s the stuff I used to eat?

I watched the Oscars, even though
My lovely wife and I don’t go
Out to the theater much. We rent
A few and catch a good percent
Of nominated films. Along
Those lines, we saw and liked the song-
Infused, inspired indie flick
Called “Once,” which soon became our pick
For “Music from the picture” or
Whatever that award is for.
The song, called “Falling Slowly,” won
Despite the film “Enchanted’s” ton
Of songs within the music group.
The film’s about the vicious loop
A struggling musician’s in
And how his talent helps him win
His own respect and take some strides
Toward modest goals. At first he hides
In other people’s songs, but learns
That absent of the fire that burns
Inside of him, the songs he sings
Are nothing more than background things.
There’s so much more, and we enjoyed
The film a lot. If you’re annoyed
By thickly-Irish brogues like his,
Learn where your “Captions” button is.

And now, my peeps, I’d be remiss
If in the midst of all of this
I didn’t even try at least
One Car Watch Item. Ready? Feast
Your eyes on this one. Ready? My
Good friend and homey Rockabye
Saw something strange and sent a text
Because the license plate perplexed
Him and, I’ll add, perplexed me too.
It read, “IM2LA4U.”
Now maybe I’m just being dense
But I don’t think that makes much sense.
I’m bothered by this. In L.A.,
It’s pretty weird for him to say
That he’s too “us” for us. Ya know?
I think it’s weird, that’s all. Although,
It would make sense if he should move
(which I’d wholeheartedly approve).

And lastly, as I sat in traffic
And tried to reach the pornographic
Capital (the Valley), I
Saw something that I’m gonna try
To share in verse. I think I can.
You see, there was this minivan
With something written on the door
In dirt, as we’ve all seen before.
The thing that makes this not the same
Is that it was a business name.
And better yet, at least to me,
It was a painting company.
I’m sure if I were given ample
Time, I’d find a worse example
Of marketing one’s business, but
That’s pretty hard to think of. What
If someone’s car or truck proclaims
“I tooter kids”? I like these games.

That’s it for me; my verse is done.
While challenging, I’ve had my fun.
I’d like to hear from some of you
To see if after reading through
This many rhyming words, you find
The meter’s imprint on your mind
Continues like it does for me.
(That started this whole thing, ya see.)
So now this nerdy project ends.
Thanks for your time. Shaloha, friends.