Ah poetry! We're old friends you and I / It's been some time since we last met / Shall we, at last, meet again?
I haven't actively written poetry in years. I can't remember the last time I actually did write a poem. It's something I used to do quite often and with ease. Eventually, a lot of the reasons for which I wrote poetry went away and so did the poetry itself. Since I've been on Steemit, I've wanted desperately to write poetry again but no inspiration has come yet.
The other day I remembered that I had to write poetry for an English lit survey course I took as an undergrad. We had to write poetry in the form and style of some of the poets we studied. I remember working so hard on some of these poems in my attempt to emulate some of the great poets of yore (iambic pentameter not being my forte and all). Despite my inability to keep a decent, poetic rhythm, I really enjoyed these assignments. It was a great way to become intimate with some of the poetry we read.
So tonight I decided to dig out those poems and share one of them with you! It was written in response to one of Jonathan Swift's satirical poems, called "The Lady's Dressing Room". This poem about the horrible truth an unsuspecting man discovers when ventures into a lady's dressing room happens to be my favorite poem by Swift. In my response poem below, I attempt to shed some light on why a lady's dressing room looks as it does.
If you'd like to read Swift's poem (and I highly recommend that you do), you can find it here.My poem is below. It remains in its original, unedited state. I hope you enjoy.
A certain man attempts to press his luck
And from the lady, her secrets pluck
So as he sneaks into her private room
He begins to look upon things with gloom
Through the vanity mirror he thinks he sees
What is too smelly by many degrees
The clothes upon the chair, he cannot bear
And with a sad look as he sniffs the air
Finds sadly, women aren’t so perfect
Alas, he chooses to sit and correct
The false idea men have about ladies
And the real secret about their undies
But the truth lies not in our own chambers
But in the fantasies they believe in.
It is because of men we dress so fair
And flaunt our beauty in expensive wares
It is because of them that we must
Gaze, fiddle, pluck and ultimately adjust
Our hairstyles to that of society
And apply perfumes out of sheer piety
The makeup to cover up age and stains
That keeps us looking glamorous in rains
And to bear the torture of the morning
So that we may give some sort of warning
To those men we might pretend to want,
Or to those men which we might choose to flaunt.
Then at night to grace her home halls and find
Her room, her secret has been unwinded
The powders and lacquers through which she grins
Have been tossed aside with such dreadful sin
And what’s worse, in the paper tomorrow
Entire contents of her box written in such sorrow
For this one man who could not yet contain
His secret desire to know but know in vain
Shall be sleeping with himself tonight
The sure punishment of his sinful plight