We are far too prone to praise the poem
And poet when every word is but a gift –
And glorifying bards for epic tomes
Is narcissistic at its best and lifts
Oneself to glory as rhyming text
Cries out in vain, “Shall I be next?”
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Month: September 2023
Crumpled
The blank page staring at my wizened frown
Has come to life – a sneering wild-eyed clown
Who sits and laughs then rolls across the floor.
I’ve seen his madness many times before.
He ends up crumpled, lying by the door.
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The Rime
The rhyming ancient mariner
Drifts alone at sea.
He holds me fast as he casts
His mournful spell on me.
I see his moonlit flashing eyes
Below a blackish sky
And wonder how his furrowed brow
Knows not to live and die.
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