Meaning-Less
Some poems are a crime
For the sake of a rhyme—
Total waste of time
And not worth a dime.
Words strung along
In vacuous song
For an imagined throng
To sing all wrong.
Rhyming come easy
Makes me queasy,
Sounds so cheesy—
Doesn’t even please me.
That rhyme didn’t work—
Now wipe off the smirk.
It’s time to shirk
This line of work.
_______________
(6/24/2019)
| Copyright © 2022 by Geoffrey Dean |
Geoffrey, you make light-versifying look SO EASY! I’m sweating over a light verse…maybe trying too hard – shooting for 10 syllables per line. I’ll forgo that limitation and see what happens….
ReplyDeleteHere’s my new, current, resulting draft:
DeleteAlong the lake, hoist your eyes heavenwards,
loose your spirits to fly with birds –
trust your feet to miss the turds –
listen only to your muse's words.
They’re fit for fixing the finest curds,
for wrapping you in tightened girds,
for entertaining distracted herds,
for enthralling discriminating nerds.
THANK YOU AGAIN!