Frosted Flakes
He can't stop rhyming.
His mind races in cadence and timing.
Writing muses from within,
In both darkness and light, they begin.
Put to paper, in one pen stroke,
No force edits, and none of the hoke.
Modernists may very well blaspheme,
Believing they write, in deeper theme.
Cluttered words, and punctuation on a page,
As if contortion, should serve as the gauge.
A rhyme might accidentally appear,
but only in likeness, feeling quite 'impure'.
A well-known Frosted poet, left readers stunned;
This poem's title may find you, unknowingly punned.
This Flake will write, as his mind dances,
Until proven otherwise, he'll take his chances.
7/26/2017
Relatively new to PS, this first poem tried to poke fun at modernism. I grew up with poems that rhymed. I was surprised by the number of free verse poems and their popularity. Being on PS has allowed me to broaden my idea of poetry. I've learned that Free verse is universal, while rhyming is limited by dialect. The best lesson I've learned is that less is often more. It is surprising how a three, line 20 word poem can say so much. I'm still a rhyming addict...
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