Get Your Premium Membership

The Contented Rhymer

I will never be a poet for even I can clearly see, my words are plain (I know it) and a little singsongy. My head’s as filled with adjectives, As is my pen with ink, though I write with all I have to give most times my poems stink. I do not know the difference betwixt haiku and senyru, (lucky, writing’s not my sustenance, It’s just what I like to do.) Yet here I sit with pen in hand considering my plight; I need to (oops) or get off the can for it seems the time is right. just plain white bread (can’t control it,) I know my poetry’s just okay, so since I’ll never be Poet Laureate The contented rhymer I shall stay.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2007




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.