Dusty Books

 

I'm a poet 

Not a mechanic

If the rhyme breaks down

Should I panic?

 

For each syllable stretch

And stumbling scan

Do I search for another

Or act like a man

 

Must the purpose I scribe

Be for passing a test

Or maybe some mention

Of a tale with some zest

 

I think the audience tell 

If they like it or not

And may offer a silence

If I've lost the plot

 

But if it's a soliloquy

I may want to complete

I may not come to notice

If the crowds on their feet

 

Or the readers who post 

Their comments to me on the net

Could stop being upbeat

Might write things that upset

 

Though I've written some decades

At last count, it was five

Will the world ever notice

If I fail to survive

 

The onslaught of grammar

And punctuation rebuffs

Shall I fall to the floor 

From observations so tough

 

No I've come to conclude

That while with good intent

Those that pick nits out

Consider their time well spent

 

But the ones that I please most

Are those that see through

To the art of the poet

When in love or so blue

 

I could pen some more parodies

Write them just for a laugh

Or play with fickle inspiration

And follow its quite rambling path

 

Oh yes that I will do

For it's the way that I work

To change after all this time

Would make me a real berk

 

So swallow the rule books

I'll eschew that myself

My readers want to be stirred

Not dust books on a shelf...

 

©Rhumour

July 27th 2009