Luminous green grass next to a wet stone wall, tiny gnats decorate peachy mist. The evening sun now turns fells a candy floss pink and I trot on -smiling- down the lane.

Creating a poem was hard to do
It had to rhyme all the way through
Choosing what you want to say
The words must fit in the right way
You must be wise, and of course clever
To succeed in this endeavour
The special thing about a poem
The rhyme of verse, that alone
It makes you think, touches the heart
You cannot but help to love this art
The thoughts they flow, images race
Everything falls into place
It matters not if you're unknown or have fame
As long as the last words all sound the same
It's the rhyme, that made me
Fall in love with poetry
But now poetry is high brow
Stilted words
Fragmented sentence
Fill the spaces with thought
To find the meaning
RIP the poor rhyme

Embarrassment and failure, writings of a loon must improve soon

Just another hit she begs and her cruel master obliges

Your heart it breaks
in the night a dog barks