This sequence of poems I have called, ‘The Diminishment of TRUTH’
“TRUTH Poem”
TRUTH
is wasted on the youth;
“Where is your proof?”
you ask.
“How uncouth!”
I respond,
“My truth
may not be your truth –
for I am long in the tooth
and you…
are young…
and inexperienced…
and have limbs that don’t creak.
The TRUTH,
of which I speak,
is for the older person,
the bolder person,
the ‘the days are getting colder’ person.
Him.
Or her.
Or them.
Or it.
Hmmmm.
Not sure about that bit –
I may have to edit
a lit-
A little bird once told me
that I was worth two bushes…
that was handy advice
at the time;
though I never wrote about it
in a rhyme.
I may have misremembered that…
it could have been a cat.
As T. S. Eliot once said:
‘A book is like the colour red’
or maybe it was something else
that he said.
Truth be told,
I’m growing old.
Older by the second,
and my truth is not
all that it shaped up to be…
am I fecund?
TRUTH is…
I hadn’t the foggiest what that word meant…
until I looked it up.
Does that make me a mug?
Or a cup?
–//–
“TRUTH Limerick”
There once was an abstract concept called TRUTH,
that was given to all in their youth
but, the the truth of it is
TRUTH is all bubbles and fizz,
and LIES are the gin and vermouth.
–//–
“TRUTH Haiku”
TRUTh is just a word…
National Poetry Day
proposed as a prompt.
–//–
“TRUTH Couplet”
A couplet were walking their dogma one day,
TRUtH be told, they never did, but they may.
–//–
“TRUTH in a Single-Line”
TRUTH is the luxury of youth.
And a ‘Parting Shot Across The Bows’:
TRUTH is…
everything;
and yet,
nothing at all.
