"rhymer" poems
(I Could Not Knot a Knot.)
My tale is one of tortuous frustration,
when two ropes caused me aggravation,
and my every effort resulted in a situation
that left me in a state of angry indignation!
Oh, what a knotty problem I had got,
when I found I could not knot a needed knot!
Though needing help on how to knot a knot,
no one I knew, knew how to knot my needed knot!
I had two short ropes - which I’d a need to knot,
and which I’d knot together with a special knot,
but it never worked, for the knot did not knot,
and my knot came undone! I felt such a clot!
Firstly, I took the ropes, which I twisted tight
together, but still the end result, was not right,
for when I tugged, the knot, not only fell apart,
but showed no sign of a knot! Making a fresh start,
I took one rope, and placed it firmly under
the other. This was so easy, I did wonder
if my actions should have been reversed,
for it too fell apart! Oh, how I cursed!
Seems tying knots is not for faint hearts,
for any knot, that’s not knotted, soon parts
when it’s put to the test! That I’m not a knot
expert, you can tell. Truly, my forte is not
that of being very good at tying knots,
for I do not understand what knots
need, to keep them from falling apart!
Tying a knot right, right from the start,
is important, and that’s why my knot
was not reliable, but why I did not
understand. Yes, I’ve tied many knots.
but they’re knots known as Granny Knots.
Other knots are what folks call a Slip Knot.
Then there’s the Turk’s Head - a special knot,
as is the Cat’s Paw, Clove Hitch,and Bowline.
Truth to tell, - none of these resembles mine!
Then there’s a Timber Hitch, which is a knot
that truly puzzles me, and not an easy knot to knot!
There’s many other knots, that need the greatest skill,
such as the Hangman’s Knot - a knot that’s made to ****
Whilst the sheepshank? That’s a tricky one to see!
So many knots, but they’re not knots for me.
Methinks of all the knots, the one true knot for me,
is the “Lover’s Knot”, which I have tied successfully!
Rhymer. April 24th, 2018
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
After seeing a Flea flee,
along with a fast fleeing Fly,
I wondered what Fleas and Flies do
if in fleeing, they flew into a flue?
Now should a fleeing Flea flee,
with a Fly that flies with flu,
does flying with a fleeing Fly,
free the fleeing Fly of the flu?
When seeing a Fly fly into a flue,
followed by a Flea with the flu
does it mean that the Fly that flew
by flying into the flue, was fleeing
from the flu or the Flea with the flu?
When a Flea and Fly are flying
is the Flea fleeing with, or flying from a Fly?
or was the Fly that flew, fleeing from a Flea?
Or:
When a fleeing fly with the flu, flies into a flue
and a flea with the flu, is fleeing along with the fly
with the flu, into the flue, is the flea flying with
the fly with the flu, into the flue, or is it happenstance?
You tell me! A little bit of fun!
Rhymer. February 28th. 2018.
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 9:51 AM UTC
The Many Stages of Life.
Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!
Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:
A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.
Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.
A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.
It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.
Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.
Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.
Heaven be praisedACA, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.
After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.
When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!
Rhymer. May 23rd, 2018.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
A STRANGE thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought
Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade,
Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out.
It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad.
The south wind brought it longing, and the east wind
despair,
The west wind made it pitiful, and the north wind
afraid.
It feared to give its love a hurt with all the tempest
there;
It feared the hurt that shc could give and therefore it
went mad.
I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind,
I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had,
But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland
caught the wind;
I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went
mad.
HDR II
The Heart behind its rib laughed out. "You have called me mad,' it said,
"Because I made you turn away and run from that young child;
How could she mate with fifty years that was so wildly bred?
Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild
bird mate in the wild.'
"You but imagine lies all day, O murderer,' I replied.
"And all those lies have but one end, poor wretches to betray;
I did not find in any cage the woman at my side.
O but her heart would break to learn my thoughts are far away.'
'Speak all your mind,' my Heart sang out, "speak all your mind; who cares,
Now that your tongue cannot persuade the child till she mistake
Her childish gratitude for love and match your fifty years?
O let her choose a young man now and all for his wild sake.'
1.8k
I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,
Come and share my haunch of venison.
I have too a bin of claret,
Good, but better when you share it.
Tho' 'tis only a small bin,
There's a stock of it within.
And as sure as I'm a rhymer,
Half a **** of Rudeheimer.
Come; among the sons of men is one
Welcomer than Alfred Tennyson?
1.8k
gets up from chair, and breathes in deeply
people are made up of so many things, it's amazing
1. Oxygen
2. Carbon
3. Hydrogen
4. Nitrogen
5. Calcium
6. Phosphorus
7. Potassium
8. Sulfur
9. Sodium
10. Magnesium
i guess paying attention in biology did pay off
i remember when i was 11 years old my brother showed me a movie clip where Charlie Chaplin spoke in-front of tons of people
he said "we think too much and feel too little".... i finally understand
and if you feel sad, i hope you can find a therapist, or i hope you can afford a 12 pack of beer at the liquor store to ease what you feel right then
walks out the house
looks around and smiles
i found hope on the corner of arapaho and shiloh, it was 7:32 pm, i remember because i texted myself saying "dude you're finally happy"
no more desires of being dead ever came to mind
i found out what a man i can be if i pushed myself and loved without regretting, without being scared of falling for things for the wrong reasons
i found out to learn everything and grasp whatever came my way even if it brought me to my knees
i'm going to die fulfilled
i feel like rhyming, sorry, i'm not a good rhymer, but here i go....
garden of green leaves
glistening tress
scented hives, buzzing bees
we lie under shaded trees
we pray to who we're afraid to deceive
if we do, we rot even if we pleaded on our knees
summer breeze, ******* and THC
don't leave
addictions are hard to let go when i love you like grinded holy mary ****
i'm not a good rhymer, i think the song that goes like "versace versace versace versace versace"
was better than what i just w. r. o. t. e.
haha.
it's getting dark, i need to go to sleep
turns off light
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
As I viewed the view I could see you, a ewe and a yew.
Then I saw the ewe, under a yew, was looking at you!
But that ewe under the yew looking at you, was a view
which begged the question as to why, the ewe under the yew,
was looking at you, and what was its view of you?
Did you see that ewe under the yew, looking at you,
or did you only see the yew and not the ewe looking at you?,
or was it only the ewe looking at you, and not the yew?
I ask this of you, for I cannot ask the ewe standing under the yew,
nor can I ask the yew, under which stood the ewe,
who was stood looking at you. So what’s your view?
Do you, take the view that the ewe, under the yew
had nothing to do, and was simply under the yew
so it could look at you? Although I’m sure the yew
had nothing to do with you, neither did the ewe,
that was looking at you, from under that yew!
Maybe the yew, under which the ewe stood looking at you,
was a convenient yew for the ewe, to get a good view of you?
That’s my view, as to why the ewe stood under the yew to look at you?
If you know, please tell me do, so I can forget my view
of the question as to why the ewe under the yew, was looking at you!
Then I can bid you, the yew and the ewe, a fond Adieu!
Rhymer. April 21st, 2018.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC
Rhymes
And the rhyme says,
all the long haired rhyming people, must go,
so I put on a short wig,
and went in to ask why.
I'm a fine young rhymer,
please let me show.
Took off my wig,
and asked him to give me a try.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
And the rhyme says,
anyone caught not rhyming,
will be shot on sight,
I jumped the fence and gave a yell,
hey, I know how to rhyme right.
Non rhymers won't let mother nature in,
they say not to rhyme is considered a sin.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Hey man mister, can you read,
my rhymes are all that you'll ever need.
Must have a paper and pen to rhyme,
watch me write as I enter my prime.
I don't need a membership card,
my rhymes will keep you on guard.
And the rhyme says,
everyone down here is welcome to stay,
but when Lucifer passed the plate,
I had no money to pay.
So I got my own pen and paper,
and made up my own little rhyme,
So I decided to sell my soul,
the Devil will make me feel fine.
Rhymes, rhymes, everywhere rhymes,
filling up the pages,
blowing all your minds.
Sorry for you, but I'm out of time,
do this, do that, cant you read the rhyme.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
I
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire,
And I am shrunken to skin and bone,
For all my heart has had for its hire
Is what I can whistle alone and alone.
Oro, oro.!
Tomorrow night I will break down the door.
What is the good of a man and he
Alone and alone, with a speckled shin?
I would that I drank with my love on my knee
Between two barrels at the inn.
Oro, oro.!>1
To-morrow night I will break down the door.
Alone and alone nine nights I lay
Between two bushes under the rain;
I thought to have whistled her down that
I whistled and whistled and whistled in vain.
Oro, oro!
To-morrow night I will break down the door.
II
I would that I were an old beggar
Rolling a blind pearl eye,
For he cannot see my lady
Go gallivanting by;
A dreary, dreepy beggar
Without a friend on the earth
But a thieving rascally cur --
O a beggar blind from his birth;
Or anything else but a rhymer
Without a thing in his head
But rhymes for a beautiful lady,
He rhyming alone in his bed.
1.4k
Pompous:
"Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer,
fitting each word to its neat little place.
Oh God, no, not another painterly composition
with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this.
They did that in the past; get to the new.
Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful
knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out.
Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity
or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion.
Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings.
Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay.
When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity.
Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence.
Be above the miniscule.
By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions.
Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world.
Show you ain't no conforming sissy.
Display in impatient referenceless strokes
Your forceful awareness of the world as known."
Facetia:
"Oh?
A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures;
no eons of effortful evolution;
Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding.
Mind never happened, spirit's a farce,
unions only expedient plottings.
Lessons of history describe the disruptive;
it's what you grab and who you club;
others are only take or be taken.
Show 'em who's boss,
stash it away,
it's dog eat dog until there's nothing.
Shake it all up and break it all up.
It's only entropy."
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC
Shakespeare wrote: that in Life,
we pass through seven,stages,
and for each stage, we fill many pages.
Recording details, joyful and sad:
of deeds done, be they good or bad.
Lifestyles led - be they short or long:
a mournful dirge or joyful song?
they’ll mark times of joy and strife
each book recording a stage in life.
But of all events therein, there’s no doubt,
The Rhythm of Life, runs throughout!
A Challenge was issued to write a poem,
based on the theme "The Rhythm of Life."
Herewith my attempt to describe poetically,
the Seven Phases, of life in metred rhyme:
A baby’s first cry, a Mother’s sigh,
a Father’s joy, be it girl or boy!
The Rhythm of Life - renewing.
Tho not adept, a toddler’s first step:
an excited giggle, a hesitant wiggle!
The Rhythm of Life - exploring.
A chilling dream: a piercing scream:
a splashing bath, a show of wrath!
The Rhythm of Life - revealing.
It’s off to school, playing it cool,
friendships made, twixt lad and maid,
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
In the Class, shy looks pass:
Girl dates boy, flirting coy:
The Rhythm of Life - delighting.
Embarrassed flush: a girlish blush.
With proposal made, plans are laid,
The Rhythm of Life - maturing.
Lovers matched, a wedding hatched,
with banns said, the twosome wed.
The Rhythm of Life - inviting.
Twixt a couple paired, love is shared.
Next it’s three, maybe more to be?
The Rhythm of Life, expanding.
Heaven be praised, the family’s raised,
then comes the desire, to retire.
The rhythm of Life, now slowing.
After happy years, and some tears,
walk grows slow, soon time to go.
The Rhythm of Life, is waning.
When The Reaper calls, the curtain falls:
being time to leave, some will grieve.
For The Rhythm of Life, has ended!
Rhymer. March 16th, 2018.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
Just the extension of a dream
Perching right outside my window
Darkness swallows everything
Like the seaside, sweet crescendo.
Lady Midnight, so mysterious,
Never knew beauty was this,
Lay my head upon your pillow
And let me drift away in dreams.
Morpheus gave you sweetest agonies
And a debt so high to pay,
You must lay yourself to sleep
And make way for a new day.
Lady Midnight
Though your beauty will always remain the same
Your mantle of stars is cursed,
Sooner or later you fade.
Disappear into daylight
And flower at night again,
Roll like tides o'er the horizon,
Make your name known everywhere.
Lady Midnight
Keep my secret until my name fades away,
Erased by water and fire
And my dark soul burns in hell.
Lady Midnight,
I pray you find me
And absolve me with your grace
Lady Midnight,
A talented rhymer
Of a troubled girl you made
Lady Midnight,
Pages and pages
My work expands nowadays
And notebooks with onyx ink
That is bound to fade away.
Absolve me, my Lady Midnight,
Don't let Satan know my name.
This writer soul's only ambition
Was only to make a name.
Among others of her craft
She now succumbs with the flames,
She disappears with your darkness,
Lady Midnight,
Sinner's friend.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
Better Than You
Anytime, anyplace,
I will kick you in your face.
Anyhow, anywhere,
I will leave you in despair.
You name the place, tell me the time,
there isn't a word I can't rhyme.
Not a chance, I will loose,
your words leave a mental bruise.
I'm gods gift to the pen,
you have smaller ***** than Ken.
Don't hate the player, hate the game,
by now you all know my name.
I'm not a poet or a rapper,
just a rhymer, writer and a scrapper.
I entertain you with my catchy hooks,
it helps that I have sensational looks.
You're nothing but a fudge packing **** pirate,
oh I'm sorry, was that supposed to be private.
You can't mess with the rhyme master,
what a shame you turned into a disaster.
I've taught you everything you know,
but I left out the part how to properly flow.
You were my pupil, you tried to go alone,
like Medusa, I turned you into stone.
The **** you write, no one reads,
to me everyone eventually concedes.
You're like Pepsi, I'm like Coke,
I'm an unsolvable riddle, you're just a joke.
As I stand here waiting for the duel,
the longer I wait, the more I fuel.
I see you lurking in the shadows,
you're heading right for the gallows.
This is your last chance to surrender,
I commend you for trying to be a contender.
But as I suspected, I'm better than you,
I left your underwear brown, and your ***** blue.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
please don't blame yourself
nothing was up to you
you cry for days and days
but there was nothing you could do
please don't hurt yourself
I cant bear to watch you bleed
someone so true and pure
should never feel this harsh defeat
you never did a thing
to warrant all this pain
you don't deserve the thunder
and you don't deserve the rain
ive never been a rhymer
ive never been much good at all
but I promise you my angel
I will never let you fall
I will repair your quiet breaks
I will never leave your side
I wont ever make you wait
ill be here til the day I die
I wont let you be alone
even when you try to hide
I wont let you take this blame
I don't care how hard you try
you dont just twinkle like the stars
youre the sunrise in my sky
youre the most vibrant flower
youre the day and youre the night
please dont blame yourself
there is nothing left to do
but be calm and understand
the one who matters now is you.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 6:10 AM UTC
Bolero
Roll….slowly,let me rope your soul solely,
As you feel the Sandmans touch take control see,
Theres a whole lotta atmospheric pressure involved,
Rhymes gamed, flames flamed- new riddles to be solved,
Dissolve yourself in my dissolution,
Sudoku rhymer-kabuki solution,
My approach comes over the crowd like a wave-
Hypnotic suggestions - your psyche’s enslaved,
Sway,stay,pray - I prey on your grey matter,
Thoughts dreams and scenes flee all become scattered…
A battered suit of plate armour that STILL holds firm,
Come with me as I whisk you away into the firmament,
See stars born and die in mere millisecs,
Come get drawn further every parsec,
Away from Earth a mere ball of dirt,
Some try to escape their fate the truth can hurt...
But we’re all stardust,so return to your beginnings,
Still spinning,no sinning hear the Multiverse singing,
my Bolero whips you tight in triple time,
dance with me hold tight to my rhyme…
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
I am a Senior, of advanced years.
I strive to live each day,
I refuse to buckle under - it’s not my way.
I speak up to any injustice when seen
I listen to all, be they young, old or teen.
I hope for tomorrow, a better place,
I struggle to accept, we’re a superior race.
I am a Senior, of advanced years.
I am a Senior, set in my ways,
I love to live fully, it was always my way,
I watch the young, indulging in play.
I learn from others, accept advice without qualm.
I daydream of a world, peaceful and calm,
I laugh at my daydreams, it’s a time to play.
I cry for the peace: always one step away,
I am a Senior, set in my ways.
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm,
I admire the person, who can admit they’re wrong
I respect the one, who sings a positive song.
I expect few of you reading, know me at all,
I accept life has been wonderful. Today? It’s a ball.
I reject naysayers, and their negativity;
I deserve to be heard, with courteous civility.
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.
I am a Senior of an advanced years.
I desire to see peace - so far out of sight:
I dance with my wife, in dreams every night.
I sing at all times, my words mean naught,
I want to be considered, as having deep thought.
I need to be assured, of my groundless fears!
I pray to be spared, of handicapped years.
I am a Senior set in my ways,
I am a Senior, stubborn and firm.
I am a Senior of advanced years
Rhymer. April 19th, 2018.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
A poet not
Perhaps someday I’ll write a rhyme
If so inclined and have the time
A play on words, a touch of wit
Tis true, I have some nack for it
Of pace and meter, twisted words
Passion, feelings, things I’ve heard
But not just now, my soul is old
My mind is numb , my muse too cold
My thoughts are shallow, as a pond
While poets need, an ocean strong
And so for now I’ll meditate
On poems of friends, I know are great
Just a rhymer - Justa Civileon 2003
Jan 2, 2010
Jan 2, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
I will catch Harry Potter's ******
because life is match
lets take our pistols to unlatch
scratch them all till i die scratch!
i'll sew bad ideas batch
i will detach because im crosspatch!
this is final war to win, no rematch
i wont back down because i'll outmatch
this poem to bad people despatch!!!
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
When I fee I'm rich, I see someone richer.
When I feel I'm poor, I see someone poorer.
When I feel I'm a poet, I read a real rhymer.
When I feel like an idiot, I look in the mirror.
When I am cheerful: “enjoy it, while it lasts.”
When I am cheerless: “bare it, it will not last.”
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
i thought that growing up
i would look back on all that i've seen
and see you standing right next to me-
yet
to my dismay
i am again standing in the gap-
trapped
inside.
i thought that growing up
we'd be closer than before
closer than closed doors-
yet i slam
that door shut
every day-
and i beg you
to go
away.
who am i today
who am i today
who is i going to be
and where will that lead i?
will i be another symphony
is i just another expressed belief?
what does i believe-
oh i
what do you see and why
do you see oh i
the way you do
and why
do i oh i
still follow
you-
if i isnt me
than is me just another empty space
that i left behind
in the aftermath of
finding out who i is?
-me is just an empty lot
waiting for i to reattach to the host
-empty walls now make me i's empty ghost.
i isn't who i should be
not me
not me
not me's position to be choosing personality-
than who is the rhymer and the writer!
the pen and ink!
who are the author and who are the book!
who are they!
who are the shadows that haunt my mind!
who are the shadows of glory divine-
who are the devine
and they still make me question why
but i'm still learning tonight
and maybe tomorrow will be my last fight
with that angel underneath heaven's ladder
and i will finally get the rest i need
for it's tiring
fighting with angels
knowing that you can't win
but knowing they won't let you lose-
for i truly want to lose for once
and figure out that death isn't worth it-
and figure out that i had a greater purpose.
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 12:15 AM UTC
Charles Bukowski
Died with a wife
at the end of his life
left a world that was rife
with the blade of a knife
And a soul filled with stife
And another word that sounds alike is fife.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 9:49 PM UTC
So what is the new next thing?
isick ilich selum lee lay lum
syntax brizoke choke sizome
jabber wizock riverrun,
past Eve and Adam
Raisinets, Kay Jewelers, Round Up ‘s the way
Nirvana sun Gaga Ketchum drum Bellum
Numb undone-or-been done “that’s right son you tell’m”
“Ugh a rhymer?” “a diner.” “no stop it,” “crop top it.”
“No really I’m feeling like this meter is cheating”
“but I can’t stop,” “that didn’t rhyme” “oh yea”
So now what?
What is there?
Can I go any further?
Not not, come **** ****
September November taint
I, you, it—‘s all ****
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
I’ve a coat with many pockets,
that’s special in its ways,
Although young when I first donned it,
still fits me well these days.
With a host of special reasons
for wearing it today,
It's gifted to my chidren,
when I reach my final day.
It’s got pockets full of memories
and others full of dreams,
from my ninety years of living,
with more to come it seems.
there’s a pocket for the future,
into which I hope to add,
all the moments I’ll enjoy,
be they jubilant or sad.
Should I feel downhearted:
an occasion that is rare,
I’ll recall a favoured happening:
or a moment I can share
with anyone that’s listening,
that has befriended me.
With a moment that I treasure,
I deem a priceless memory.
When friends have come together,
a common human trait,
we’ll reminisce on our early years,
and how we faced ill Fate,
We talk of our successes
and times of yesterday,
as for achieving the impossible?
We’ll brag the livelong day.
But there is a pocket hidden,
it’s one embedded deep.
Within it, lie my broken dreams:,
that have hurt me rather deep.
They rest with irksome memories:
that make me sad and blue.
as do my angry thoughts,
that I'll not disclose to you.
There’s memories that are cheerful:
there’s others that are sad.
Whilst others make me wistful,
for the better times I’ve had.
When I think the world’s against me,
I’m alone and feeling bored,
I’ll rummage through my pockets,
for the memories I have stored.
In its pockets by the number,
there’s many treasured dreams.
Amongst memories I cherish,
there’s a host of madcap schemes.
Despite pockets overflowing,
and others fully filled,
there’s plenty more to fill,
before my life is stilled.
Yes, my coat of many pockets,
is a cherished one I wear.
Though somewhat worn and tattered,
about it I really care.
It may not look inviting,
when hanging on a hook,
but Memories therein stored,
invite your second look.
Rhymer. August 10th, 2020.
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 6:37 PM UTC
When poetry describes the historical,
One refrains from becoming hysterical.
However by use of the judicial rhetorical
A Poet makes full use of the allegorical!
So when writing poetry I remain stoical,
That though some may think me radical,
Employing words they considered lyrical,
I try never to appear, irrational or critical.
To write about the mystical and cryptical,
Using strict rhythm? Can be diabolical!
As for themes regarded purely mythical,
I shy from words too pictorial or technical.
My approach to topics humourously comical,
Is to compose lines thoughtfully satirical.
In turn this allows me to remain sceptical,
Whilst appearing not too fanatical or cynical!
So, if with words I am reckoned economical?
I hope my rational thoughts are not illogical,
But in using descriptive words, is it ethical
To ensure Poems not be too whimsical?
Now, without appearing to be pontifical,
Though I'm always careful to be veridical,
I'm allowed at times, to wax philosophical,
As I attempt to depict matters paradoxical.
Doubtless some will find my words inimical:
Fanatically methodical and chronological?
But in attempting the facetious or ironical,
I'll avoid the pitfalls of being too graphical.
Should poetry be left to the technological?
One might find it becomes too puritanical.
And suggest the Poet was unduly practical!
Such is the way of the biased hypocritical!
If my poetic lines appear to be egotistical?
Then readers must understand, that's logical.
But please I beg of you, never be heretical,
When lines concern the canonical or political.
Will a Poet's thoughts be considered farcical,
If a reader is left bemused and quizzical?
Or should he stick to the unequivocally canonical?
Personally, I'm happy if my poems are grammatical!
So I'll conclude thinking poetry may be symbolical,
And my many rhymes, in quantities numerical,
May not satisfy the purist nor the global ecumenical,
But they deal with topics that are never hypothetical!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
(Your turn Jim!)
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC