Tag Archives: words

Potatoes and Poets

Poets like potatoes,

and potatoes like poets;

what is more,

a poet can be found in potatoes,

but not in a potato;

a potato, it should be said,

cannot be found in a poet.

It’s all just letters and words,

don’t you think?

A Poem from when writing a poem is not what my brain wants to do.

It’s hard, sometimes,

to craft the rhymes,

that make the words sing;

and, often, if I do write,

what I write is poor,

and lame, and not the same,

as what I write when I’m in the zone.

But, still, I will put my words together,

untether the process of creation,

and, perhaps, by writing,

I might start inviting inspiration.

Or, I can always wait,

for the seminal state

to return.

I may earn nothing

from what I do,

but worth is in the eye

of the beholder:

that is something you learn,

as you grow older.

There is always worth in words.

Words

The word ‘Poetry’

has three syllables;

the word ‘Syllables’

also, has three syllables.

What any of that means

is open to debate;

but, not here, not now,

as I am the one syllable,

‘late’.

Dec 2nd – Starting and Finishing Words

When, is the word

with which I started this poem;

there are many others that I use

in its construction,

some short, some considerably longer,

but, the word that I have chosen

to end this poem

is unknown.

Tuesday is the new Monday, (or should that be Wednesday?)

Tuesday is here,

until it’s gone

(see Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ for more on that last part),

and it followed closely on the heels of Monday

(see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ for more on that),

precursoring Wednesday

(precursoring is a made-up word)

and claiming to be ‘Hump Day’

(see a camel for details about ‘humps’).

So, should we worry about what the day is called,

or where it lays in the ‘seven’?

(or ‘eight’ – see The Beatles about ‘eight’).

Well, I may have a lot of questions;

but, answers?

What do you think?

Word Games

I cannot ‘vestify’,

and what is a ‘qoph’;

but, if were to testify

in my vest…?

If I saw a qopher

digging up my garden,

would it beg my pardon?

Word games…

… they can really make your head spin.

Juice (on a Sunday?)

How can I rejoice,

when I have never even joiced?

Did I have a choice

that I missed

and never made?

Did I fail

to make the grade?

And, if not mine,

at whose door can the fault be laid?

How can I rejoice,

when I’ve never even joiced?

I crow a saw

I crow a saw

sky across the fly

it me confused so

it words my muddled,

Crow I saw a

across fly the sky

confused so it me,

why don’t know I

Out of Context

Out of Context

I left old Context town behind me; I was happy to be out of a place where I just didn’t fit in.

I tear this paper

I tear this paper

I tear this paper,

and eat my words,

choking upon the unfathomable metaphor

that is life.