, ,

(This poem has been submitted for The Purple Treehouse Funny Bunny Friday/August 5-11, 2011)

I string my poetry’s words together –
Run-on sentences, italics, dashes,
A parenthetical phrase that clashes
With the thought that I began with
So if, at last, you find the pith
It’s as tough to chew as old-shoe leather.

And such stretches I take to the limit
Just to save a rhyme and shim it
Up, to stand alone, make sense
That even I can scarce commence
To write what I had thought profound
Knowing really, it should be
Both literally and figuratively
Used for litter at the local dog pound.

In fact, as you can plainly see
This poem has the best of me
(Not sure exactly where it took it –
Apparently it just mistook it
For what it thought was even worse –
The life of a poet can be a curse!)
And now I’ve lost the thread I started
Some random thing that has departed
To find a poem whose rhymes don’t peter
Out, and lose the form or meter
That was originally my plan
(See how the lines in this poem scan).

If you but knew how often I change,
Start poems anew or rearrange,
The words in order to fit the schemes
(As if, I think, Yeah, in your  dreams!)
You’d know now why I have insomnia
Thinking of ways that I can con ya
Into thinking I’m some great poet –
(Even I won’t rhyme this line with “know it.”)

So relax now, this is all a nightmare
For all of you, but not for me, see
I’m writing this at midnight in my night-wear
You’re lucky you don’t have to read and see me!

(Reading my “poetry” might be tough,
But I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough. . .)