"cured" poems - Hello Poetry

dedicated to all the better poets here... don't know much about a quatrain don't know how to write a refrain, surely could not compose a courtyard elegy maybe after and still untilled, I been buried, 'n checked out the neighborhood competition... as for limerick, that is Dr. Seuss and Ogden Nash's shtick with whom, eye, a believed descendant, cannot compete... Oh dear me, no ode node-ed within, as for a pastoral, kinda hard to feat, where I live, a pastoral is grass cracks surviving under, breaking through to the other side of concrete and blacktop rulers Maybe one of you will haiku, send us a senryu, send off, see ya! the doc once diagnosed a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery, with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery, was cured most satisfactorily this silly pen-man-sinking-ship ain't capable of dat, boy how 'bout an epitaph for a graveyard stone, should be plenty of room... as it will be plenty short... all eye see and all eye know is vignettes that birth in me walking down the street, that's my bread and butter, my soul's delicacies... and moments that recorded here, for a posteriored posterity, as noted in my all my living testaments, drinking and spilling the vin, from the uninvented igniting vignettes that consecrate and connect our knowing each other though odds are we will never meet...we can yet drink together ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Don't know much about the French I took. But I do know that I love you, And I know that if you love me, too, What a wonderful world this would be."

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May 3, 2015

May 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC

bus-poet-stop

why eye drink the vin in vignette (for all the better poets here)

dedicated to all the better poets here... don't know much about a quatrain don't know how to write a refrain, surely could not compose a courtyard elegy maybe after and still untilled, I been buried, 'n checked out the neighborhood competition... as for limerick, that is Dr. Seuss and Ogden Nash's shtick with whom, eye, a believed descendant, cannot compete... Oh dear me, no ode node-ed within, as for a pastoral, kinda hard to feat, where I live, a pastoral is grass cracks surviving under, breaking through to the other side of concrete and blacktop rulers Maybe one of you will haiku, send us a senryu, send off, see ya! the doc once diagnosed a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery, with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery, was cured most satisfactorily this silly pen-man-sinking-ship ain't capable of dat, boy how 'bout an epitaph for a graveyard stone, should be plenty of room... as it will be plenty short... all eye see and all eye know is vignettes that birth in me walking down the street, that's my bread and butter, my soul's delicacies... and moments that recorded here, for a posteriored posterity, as noted in my all my living testaments, drinking and spilling the vin, from the uninvented igniting vignettes that consecrate and connect our knowing each other though odds are we will never meet...we can yet drink together ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Don't know much about the French I took. But I do know that I love you, And I know that if you love me, too, What a wonderful world this would be."