Simon Vonn-Seedmoore Poem by Richard D Remler

.......


On the highest peak
Of the great Mount McTook,
Young Simon Vonn-Seedmoore
Was reading a book
To see if the pages
Were numbered just right.
If the writing had structure,
Were the sentences tight?

He made a quick note
On the tip of his knee
When he noticed a something
That ought not to be.
The author had set a semi-colon
In an odd, foolish place,
And it wiped the stern smile
Right off from his face.

There are some mice who growl
When something is amiss,
Or when a manuscript is
As corrupted as this.
But Simon Vonn-Seedmoore
Had read this far before.
So, he took a deep breath
And read one chapter more.

He paused, rather thoughtful,
Without clicking his nose.
For he understood writing,
And that nobody knows
Just where stories come from,
Where that one seed begins.
How a story is fed and nurtured,
Where it starts. How it ends.

An Author, he thought,
Should craft a plot with a twist.
Each villain evolving with skill,
And did this Author insist
Upon well thought-out sub-plots
That moved her heroine through
Problems and dangers
She was not akin to?

Does she seek a solution
To every mountain she climbs?
Or does she simply meander
Without goal, soul or mind?
Does the Author consider
Her protagonist well?
Did she give her some flaws
Just to splinter her shell?

Does the action have focus?
Does the heroine bleed?
Do we have any clue
What these characters need?
Is the dialogue real,
Or does is sound brittle and fake?
Like an artificial sweetener
In a fresh chocolate cake?

Simon cringed, cringed again,
Shaking his head,
Disconcerted, unhappy, with what
He had read.
T'was carelessly plotted,
It was silly and trite.
Why on earth, thought young Simon,
Would anyone write
Such a banal piece of hodgepodge,
Such a mindless endeavor.
'No woman would ever
Do things such as this,
Not at all,
Simply never..'

Oh, he fumed and he fuddled,
Shook his head in disgust.
This book wasn't worth
The price of second-hand dust,
It was written so poorly,
And in abominable shape,
As though it's Author had
Connected each dot with duct tape.

But he knew, to be fair,
This Author deserved
One more look,
So Simon Vonn-Seedmoore
Reopened the book
And trudged through another
Fine chapter in need
Of a match, or a torch,
Or a stampede,
Indeed!

It was awful!
Each comma,
Every noun,
Every verb
Were set there
To fuzzle the mind,
And disturb
His want of a tale
That deserved to be read.
But this foolish
Concoction of words
Hurt his head.

He shook his head sadly,
And scratched at his knee,
'If I'd been a wiser mouse,
This would not
Have happened to me.'
For the Author had shattered
Those final four threads
That bring the Reader
Right into the tale.
With no more hope left
Simon shook his small head
And sipped at his cold ginger-ale.
'I've been sorely mislead
With what I have just read.
There's no if, there's no but,
There's no who.
There isn't a reason to read
This at all.
It simply was not worth
A review.
'What a shame, ''
He closed his eyes slowly,
'What a terrible waste.
I'd have had more fun
Laying out in the sun
Covered in Brown Paper Paste.
Letting seagulls and pigeons
Drop lettuce on me
As they circle and circle above.
It's a shame when you find out
You've wasted the day
Doing something you really
Do love.'

So, Simon Vonn-Seedmoore
Closed the book with a snap,
Stood up and gazed out
At the sky.
He looked at the book
He could simply not stand,
And said,
'Good Morning, Good Riddance,
Goodbye, '
And he tossed the book down,
Every page, every word,
Every phrase, every verb
That he'd read,
That he'd heard,
And it toppled and fell
Far down into the ravine
Right where it belongs,
Where it will never be seen.
And he headed on home,
Without one more minute look.
He sighed, 'And all this because
I wanted to read
A good book.'



Copyright © MMX Richard D. Remler



**A Children's Tale**