Poetry is a prestidigitation
of the tongue;
wordy gesticulation
designed to misdirect,
distract, deceive
and help the audience believe
you really do have nothing up your sleeve;
to make it clear
an elephant can disappear,
a rabbit can become a bunch of flowers
and a rose can be
death, or purity,
or love,
or all of the above.
A Skipping Rhyme
These are the end times
how do I know?
Three little birdies
told me so.
‘Death’ said the robin
‘Famine’ said the wren
‘Plague’ said the sparrow
and just then
who came along
but old Jack Daw
and all four together said
‘War! War! War!’
1!
2!
3!
4!
Death!
Famine!
Plague!
War!
5 6 7
8 9 10
back to the start
and go again
A Poet’s Lament
I should try to write something good
instead of all this froth;
I should search out some inner flame
then find my inner moth.
I have been doing my napowrimo poems, but they won’t be up here until some occasion when I feel like putting them here. Just so you know.
I spent about two hours in a bar staring at an empty notebook, and all I could come up with were these two bits of nonsense:
The Blonde Waitress
Although the conversation barely slows,
a dozen pairs of eyes watch where she goes.
Intelligent Design Explained
Creating both man and disease
might seem a tad ironic;
but think, without malaria,
we’d have no gin and tonic.
ku
watching the paso
incense and body heat