This poem is for people who are always in a hurry
Who can’t afford the luxury of rhythm or of rhyme
The folks who skim so quickly that the stanza breaks are blurry
It’s true: This one’s for you! Now aren’t you glad you took the time?
I’d ride a roller-coaster
For the thrilling drops and dizzy views
And stomach-churning twists and turns…
Or I could just unmute the news.
I’ve just found a sport
In which I’m competitive:
“Nappers, take your ZZZ’s…”
Rudy’s not the hero here.
Gummy bears have gummy teeth
With beary gummy gums beneath
All wrapped up in a gummy shell
Trapped inside their gummy Hell
I rise before the dawn to run
Or swim before the day’s begun
So all the crap that follows after
Leads to fewer gripes than laughter
My optimistic verses tend
To come before the evening’s end
(By fifteen hours, more or less).
If truth be told, I must confess
That optimism’s my default:
I’m bubbly as a slug in salt
When I wake up (just ask my wife!)
Before my daily slice of life
Lands jam-side-down and stains my slacks;
My late-day writing often lacks
That element of joie de vivre
Through which my early works deceive
The reader into thinking I’m
A jolly salt-slug all the time.
Such joyous voices fill my head
Those mornings I’m a slug-a-bed!
It’s rare, though, that my day permits
Delight. By night, when writing fits,
Sarcastic cynicism’s seething;
Bitterness, like labored breathing,
Wheezes back of every line,
And that’s the way you’ll know they’re mine.
I didn’t do it
Nobody saw me do it
You can’t prove a thing
poems have no rules
that those with rules
those who rhyme
what’s taught in schools
ought be forgot
the sonnet is passé
if that’s the way
rhyme and rhythm
for no amount
go write a song