The page asked and wanted to know
where are my screeds, my verses of to and fro?
The page is not insistent, it doesn't make demands
The blankness merely beckons you a clever use of hands
The page ask's are you bashful, timid, scared, or irresolute?
Does my vast emptiness request your feelings be bared?
Oh that's it, isn't it, the heavy hand of truth is what I seek
Such a criterion for a page long is not for the meek
You can be honest, its all right with me
Hell I'm not perfect, I'm the remnant of a tree
You can wax sonnets, or you can wrap fish,
A blank page is a delight, the poet's ultimate wish
But when rhyming's a necessity the words take different shape
They conform to the metered scheme of a phonetic gait
Then sound becomes as important as the meaning of a word
And cadence takes a beating and flies off like a bird
by: The reluctant rhyming of a laconic lexicon
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
The page asked and wanted to know
where are my screeds, my verses of to and fro?
The page is not insistent, it doesn't make demands
The blankness merely beckons you a clever use of hands
The page ask's are you bashful, timid, scared, or irresolute?
Does my vast emptiness request your feelings be bared?
Oh that's it, isn't it, the heavy hand of truth is what I seek
Such a criterion for a page long is not for the meek
You can be honest, its all right with me
Hell I'm not perfect, I'm the remnant of a tree
You can wax sonnets, or you can wrap fish,
A blank page is a delight, the poet's ultimate wish
But when rhyming's a necessity the words take different shape
They conform to the metered scheme of a phonetic gait
Then sound becomes as important as the meaning of a word
And cadence takes a beating and flies off like a bird
by: The reluctant rhyming of a laconic lexicon
Request permission to use this poem