Made from life events
and numerous poems read,
alloyed with quirky.
What?
Oh, so you are reading this…
poem!
That is good,
it means it was all worthwhile.
Smile.
Take solace in your achievement,
while I smile at mine.
“Not all poems are read;
does that mean that they are not poems?”
Is what a lonely writer once said.
Have you got time
for a rhyme?
No?
Okay, this will have to be
free
verse.
(“Call the Poetry Hearse
because trad poetry is dead!”)
I said
it would happen
and it did;
it has been found out,
wherever it had been hid.
Now there is nothing
but opening doors
that once were shut,
and gentle tides
on foreign shores;
all metaphors
and similar things
that no longer conform
to the old poetry laws.
Please comment upon these words
in syllables of no more than two thirds.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #FreeVerse, #nonsense, #poetry. #poem, #silly, #soc, #streamofconsciousness, poet
Who is in the kitchen
clattering poets with pans?
A critic of the written rhyme,
or avid poetry fans?
.
The poet receives a telling blow,
‘You’re shallow, and quite boring;
you have no skills at all!’
.
Not a thing a poet wants to know,
then he escapes into the hall.
.
‘I’ll have you know…
my rhymes are so—
good;
that my muse you cannot quell!’
.
‘You can stick your rhymes,
those awful crimes,
in some forsaken well!
.
The poet ran,
as poets can ,
away, and far, and over the hills;
and wherever it is he now works in a bar,
the customers’ drinks he spills.
This is a poem for later;
so, please don’t read it now,
it’s still hot from the Poetry Oven,
and has to cool somehow.
.
I’d leave it in the garden,
but the birds will peck it’s face;
and I could pop it into orbit,
it’s cold in outer space.
.
In the freezer there’s no room,
and frozen words are naff;
they thaw out and lose all shape,
like a circular giraffe.
.
No, they can cool quite slowly
at room temperature
(minus 1!)
and the poem should be ready for reading
by August when there’s sun.
mis Genver
to start the new year
(an nowydh bledhen)
y’n Kernewek, my a scrifa,
y’n Kernow, I write.
Skrifer ov vy.
Prydydh ov vy.
Meurastahwi!
——-
mis = month
mis Genver = January
Genver = Venus
an nowydh bledhen = the new year
y’n Kernewek = in Cornish
y’n Kernow = in Cornwall
Skrifer ov vy = I am a writer
Prydydh ov vy = I am a poet
Meurastahwi! = Thank you!
Poetry
is a six-letter word,
Poet, has but four;
which is why
you rarely hear
poems
any more.
I wrote a poem
and don’t you know it
because I am a passable poet;
you’d pass me in the street
without any recognition,
not realising that I
suffer from a poem-writing condition.
.
My words are known all around the world,
as others use these same words a lot
it’s only the new ones that I create,
that people find so hard to spot.
A poem is nice,
a poem is twee,
a poem for you,
a poem from me –
.
it is written,
this is the one,
how happy are you,
now that it’s done?
It was on a New Year’s Day
that I wrote this.
I should, perhaps,
have been doing something
more productive
with my time.
But, a poet must rhyme,
and being one
I needed to get this
out of my system.
I hope
that I haven’t
inconvenienced you?
Happy New Year
one and all.
 | Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
 | Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Words from a Lentil… on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
| Cynthia Praski on SoCS – Tape – #4… |
Graeme Sandford 