Some Poetry Is Crap

Writing poetry makes no sense at all It springs out of nowhere and travels into nothing ness Lemons are nines and wildcats are chickens Metaphoric twists have my stomach in knots Iambic pentameter makes me want yell Dammit ‘er! I fling things onto a page on Monday That I do not recognize myself on Tuesday Not sure which personality wrote it Sometimes it is impeccably bad, and none claim it Abecedarian is fun for me, But makes no sense in any way Still I do it. Why? Why not? I have this high energy waiting to run, bounce, jump, slap and play. So I read flowery sonnets, and they give me pause I have tried to write prissy, Shakespearean but it does not like me. I don’t even like to read that crap. Yes, some poetry is crap. Some of it is marvelous, witty, funny, cheery and gay. You can take that both ways I do. Poetry is something I fling onto a page Some of my writing I eat for breakfast and some of it eats me. It is as simple as that.