3/31/09

Days like these can come and go
Quickly and briefly and you won’t hear me complain
Even when the sun is shining
On the outside, in my mind it’s a pouring rain
Too many worries and future duties
Merely focusing on a single one is proving to be hard
When I think to tackle one task
I find my brain is lead and my intellect has been barred
I think I would like to forget
For just a minute, everything still to be done
And put my mind in a dry place
Where the breeze is gentle and there’s no need to run

The good poems always rhyme
And always have time
And are artistic, like a mime

If it doesn’t rhyme, it’s not the real deal
Even if it makes you feel
It isn’t poetry, and it isn’t real

Blank verse is pretty bad
Free verse is really quite sad
Frankly, it makes me mad

If you want to really make it
As a writer, and fit
In, you have to rhyme a bit

When you pick up the pen
Try to fit in
Free verse is actually a sin

Not long into their walk they passed a small park that lay silent by the side of the road. It stretched back from the sidewalk into the darkness and was watched over by large, spreading trees. The faintest glimmer of reflected moonlight betrayed the presence of a shallow pond reposing under the overhanging leaves.

Andrew looked up suddenly upon beholding this restful spot of nature. He smiled happily and turned to his companion. “Look at this little park by the road. It will always be dear to me, for it was here, down by the water, that I met the girl I am now devoted to.”

Quiet boredom cloaked in silence
Here no nervous tension, no sudden drama
Only colored pebbles pushed by young fingers
While many eyes peruse, page by page
Old editions, as if finding great interest
In the outdated print, only pausing to cast
Surreptitious glances at fellow bookworms, who
Knowing full well, obligingly return the favor, causing
One to wonder why they do not tear their eyes from
Their entrancing reading and stare fully at each other
And so make the most of the situation