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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread ( First of Three Poem Trilogy ) I I've no problem with bardolatry fans their barmecide and oft humorous rants. Give me golden words not found in empty cans, not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants. Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit, creators of canorous verse that soars. Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit not with callithumpians that so sorely bores. Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise, beholding to those with comminatory ways. Finding some will cut you off at the knees as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay. Floccinaucinihilipilification, judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune. Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation with very little scrippage in the month of June. Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do, for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs. Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two, with the poet's soul this body truly belongs. Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse. Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose. I've no problem with bardolatry fans their barmecide and oft humorous rants. Give me golden words not found in empty cans, not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants. Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit, creators of canorous verse that soars. Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit, not with callithumpians that so sorely bores. Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018 Rhyme Note: Make of this what you will, I give thus and surely shall send no bill Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves For the heart that yearns to write and truly give and the mortal soul that writes to live With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil I write with purpose to give to others, not to take tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.
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