I staked my claim
back in ‘62,
was given a name
by ‘you-know-who’,
grew up bad
or good
depending on the situation,
and here I am,
under evaluation.
.
‘21, where I am now,
got myself here,
don’t quite know how;
and here I am,
all covered in mud,
with a hint of Turmeric
running through my blood.
.
Yes, I know,
that I write bad verse;
but, if anybody read it,
it could be much worse,
‘Worse than what?’
I hear nobody ask.
Ask me another,
increase my task;
and maybe one day,
when the weather is right,
I’ll write a ‘proper’ poem –
I might, I just might.
.
So, on and on
the words they go,
is there no log-jam
to the endless flow?
I’ll stop when I think you’ve had enough;
when times are good,
and rhymes are rough,
I’ll be the Bard
with quill and ruff.
Love the humble poet who says he doesn’t write proper poem. When the poem is already so good 😊
Thank you – I try and avoid ‘proper’ poetry (as a rule). G:)
Have a great day. 🙂