#379
Hanging by a Thread
Would I were a Worthwords,
A Bryon, Sheets or Kelley;
Would I could remember things
I'd just seen on the telly.
My mind's a bit off kilter
And my verse is even worse.
All I'm left with now it seems
Is the old brain-blocking curse.
#188
Joyful Noise
Not all my noise is joyful,
But much of it might pass:
Singing in the shower
Or my Ave sung at Mass.
Calling for my little dog
With back door pitch and poise,
Plus all the words I pour in verse
Would count as joy full noise.
#169
This Poet
This poet never blots a line,
Though many fall far short of fine;
This poet never mends his verse,
Unless it ends with death or hearse,
For lately he has felt unwell
And cringes at the thought of Hell,
A literary enterprise
For poetasters, wits, magpies.
#157
Being and Nothingness
Sometimes I sleep...
Sometimes I wake...
I never know clock time.
Therefore,
I turn myself into a verse
And seal it with a rhyme.
