I am not worthy:
I suffer from poetry scurvy!
Too many times
I have forsaken the rhymes
That to me are like limes.
I come out in blotches… and rashes… splotches and spots…
If I don’t write, and recite, poetry… lots!
It’s like a maddening disease,
I cough and I sneeze…
Give me some poetry, please!
Read to me of the Ancient’s Rime,
Or, give me, but world enough and time
Then this shakiness, lady, would be no crime,
For I could pen a line or two,
And dedicate my verse to you,
Jot a Limerick, neat and quick,
Or create for you
A perfectly good Haiku –
That would surely do the trick!
But, as it is, I’m fairly sure
My fevered brow will dare no more
To put down words for others’ pleasure;
Buried deep is my lyrical treasure.
No ‘X’ marks the place;
No map does show a single trace
Of where I lost the cursed sense
That I garnered from innocence and experience.
And if, mayhap, you chance upon
The ‘monkey’s paw,’, ‘King Alfred’s Scone’
When out one day, not drowning, but walking
Or some other such-like accursed thing.
Then beware the Jabberwock, my son,
And don’t gaze upon the Bandersnatch,
Or else it’s likely that a poeticious disease you will catch.
My malady is getting me down a tad;
My muse is confused ; my ballad, sad;
I seem to have lost the ‘whatever’ I had.
I know I’ve committed crimes against rhymes; I’ve done my time,
Unlearned the rules, over-reached my prime, misused the tools
That a poet should care for; given up the reason, the why and the wherefore
Art thou, Romeo? Is this a doggerel that I see before me?
Not a Handel, just a rag-time band!
All I hope and pray is you understand;
Under-hand, I leave you now,
When my germs have transferred, I’ll take my bow.
I’ll pass the buck, loan the muse;
Now you can bemoan the poet’s blues.
Reblogged this on Graeme Sandford and commented:
This deserves to be read (as it is blue about how little it is red) – forgive my reblogging, but, I like this and feel that you may, too – G:)
Reblogged this on On The Upside and commented:
Oh, I love this! Couldn’t resist!!
I find rhyme very difficult. I’m often told it’s not a poem unless it rhymes. Well, so be it.
I’ve never found two poets alike.
Poetry is what you make it, and make of it. My words are not everybody’s mug of coffee – but it’s what I do.
Thank you for reading so many of them. Graeme:)