Friday, 31 January 2014

January 31: Only 344 more poems ...


I told you I’d try to write a new rhyme, every day for a year, one day at a time
The first month it’s over, it’s been pretty fun, and the end of this rhyme sees another day done
Sometimes it’s a struggle to find the right words, to make it all fit, without sounding absurd
Sometimes it comes easy, they fill up the space, the rhythm and rhyme they fall into place

There’s often a story I explain with my prose, it has my own view, no-one else knows
The paper, the news, it gives me a thought, I picked it up on the run, no, never been taught
Although I must confess, I picked up a clue, from my talented mother, a poet she too
Rhyming, and timing, it must have some form, if it does not, it’s gone from the norm

You see I’m a poet, I write what I like, if you don’t agree, then get on your bike
I think it’s quite funny, in my own stupid way, I can tell you things here, that I dare wouldn't say
Only eleven more months, and my deed with will be done, so eleven more months, of word-smithing fun
When I am finished, I’ll pick one for sure, that will be my favourite, and there won’t be no more

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