A Short Poem
My poems are growing longer
When reciting I run out of puff
My lungs, once much stronger
Struggle with long-winded stuff
So, I'm writing this short refrain
To curb my penchant to ramble
I'm trying my best to abstain
From including excess preamble
I'd like to say it's a breeze
But the truth is, it isn't at all
Some writers do it with ease
I go large rather than small
So in future when penning a verse
And my lines seem a little snappy
Or appear to be overly terse . . .
Let me throw in a line overblown . . . that's no longer pared down to the bone . . . that takes on a life of its own . . . that may make you chuckle or groan . . . of a gargoyle that's carved out of stone . . . parachutes above the drop zone . . . the baddest badass since Capone . . . the last of the species alone . . . the smell of grass freshly mown . . . the melt-in-the-sun ice cream cone . . . smooth jazz from a cool saxophone . . . the wrong that you cannot condone . . . to say scon or should it be scone . . . can Canute turn the tide from his throne . . . a neverending line in a poem . . . that's more than a little slaphappy
Copyright © Kevin Dale | Year Posted 2020
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