I
used To
read My poems
in Talent shows
i Don't think i will this year
i Worry i won't come off as well as the singers and dancers
i know that They will clap the same for me
but Are they
really Listening?

Norm McDonald's moth
Dave Allen's clock
There's some comedy bits
That are just off the hook
Mitch Hedberg's rice
Bill hick's wax dart
Norm again with
Janice in the woods
It's an art
To encapsulate
Pathos bathos
And litotes
Like that
with
Absurdism bubbling
It's an Hell o an act.

No more shall I seek to linger on the silken loop of stars,
Nor will I play at dice in the moonlit, burning woods.
"Let it remain unsung"—the cuckoo’s sweet and lilting refrain;
Lend me but a fleeting shadow to soothe my weary soul.

At dawn’s tender crack, I will wander to the edge of the fading night,
Where the first light spills gently through its shimmering seam.
And though the day may falter, and twilight weep its soft return,
Grant me but a shade beneath the mole of your verdant grove.