My poetry was getting out of hand,
Readers found it hard to understand.
They told me this was so,
And I replied, “Yes I know,
But I’ve noticed lately as I approach the end of a verse that I feel overtaken by some kind of a compulsion to try to squeeze as many words into the last line as I possibly can!”
I thought -
As I ought!
Maybe simpler rhyming and rhythm
Would get me on better terms with ’em.
So I tried a simpler poem.
Hoping that would show ’em
That my verse-making skill
Might yet give them a thrill.
But it was far from easy,
For my stomach was queasy
And my mind was seething
With the poem’s need for neat breathing
For I discovered that poetry aficionados
How to rhyme with that word – who knows?
Enjoy clear punctuation
To enhance their imagination.
To make word-pictures flow,
Allowing images to grow
Within their mind
The going tough
And more than enough -
Of a challenge.
For any readers who saw me working;
In my neighbourhood lurking;
Then, becoming bolder,
Looked over my shoulder
And asked about this confusing stanza…
I could offer no anza.
Has got worse
I’ve reached the time -
Far from sublime –
To stop holding my breath –
As this rhyme reaches its death -
In hope of finding depth and meaning.
No, my mind has gone stale,
I cannot prevail.
It’s time to exhale.
Author's note: I've suffered for my humour, and now it's your turn to suffer...
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