Clown Poet
He had a way with words,
spoken or written,
could clown around with them,
could leave you smitten,
but he could be most sober,
and somber, too,
and leave you with a hybrid
point of view.
Beneath a tree, his epitaph
winks at me:
"Lachrymose don't be,
this isn't tragedy,
you should've seen my dad
doing comedy,
well, apples fall near the tree
where I pee."
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.