“Oh, no!” she cried, tears in her eyes,
“The poetry store is dark inside!
The shelves are empty – the rhymes are gone!
No books! No schemes! No driving song
Of meters pushing each word on.
This cannot be! This is a crime –
To take poetry but leave us time!
Who would bury us with such woes
As to live and die with only prose?”
Tag Archives: Rhymed Verse
The Poetry Store
A Little Irish Craic: Happy Saint Patrick’s Day
An oversight, a quick mistake,
But now, it’s more than I can take!
Thinking of songs and dance and beer –
Of Irish craic, fun, and good cheer –
I forgot one thing (one little flaw),
And it’s like I broke some sainted law!
Constant pinches, laughter, too!
What country’s colors are black and blue?
And to pinch a girl for not wearing green?
That’s not Irish – that’s just plain mean!
Payment in Advance
I pay now for another’s choice
But also for my own
I did not speak out or raise my voice –
And that shame is mine alone.
My silence then was cowardice,
My disbelief unwise,
But to keep them now, to turn my back,
Is closing more than eyes.
Infection’s Spread
Is knowledge like an illness?
Does it infect and spread?
Does it show throughout your body,
If it gets into your head?
And what symptoms should we look for?
Does plumbing cause a crack?
Must artists wear flamboyant scarves?
Must architects wear black?
Does it change your gender?
Does carpentry make you a man?
If I can’t see skills in a single glance,
Then, why do you think you can?
twytte 