Poem Lost
The bard had just penned a ballad profound
and stroking his beard, this clumsy word-hound
just spilled his last beer on pages unbound.
A marvelous monorhyme sits uncrowned.
Deluged under streams of thoughts that still hound,
I venture to guess the piece has just drowned
from rainclouds of doubt with thunderous sound
from faraway lightning seeking a ground,
Now mopping up foam, he waits to impound
damp shadowy reservoirs which redound
to poetic skill reserved and renowned,
concealed in debris, its burial mound.
Like nebulous chords which cannot be found
his poem is lost with drinks he just downed.
Can there be a way to use ultrasound
to track fickle brainstorms flitting around?
written April 5, 2012, revised August 17, 2021
Contest: Your Best Monorhyme, Host: William Kekaula
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