Keats was only twenty-six when he died! I've tried to honour him with an attempt at his style!
Thy youthful face looked out upon the world
As though a life of length stretched out ahead.
And yet you faded e'er the bud unfurled;
A few brief years and, sadly, you were dead.
The age in which he lives must make its mark
Upon a poet's writings and his soul.
Thy life was brief, a quickly sputtering spark,
And we are left with part of the great whole.
And we, who follow after, living long,
Protected by great medicine from thy fate,
With extra years in which to sing our song,
Should produce poems many times as great!
Ah! But such works of art can never be!
Genius feeds upon life's brevity.
When I'm faced with a word like 'platitude'
I feel overcome with gratitude.
To think that I can have the latitude
To write with my normal rhyming attitude.
Verse that rhymes is out of fashion,
Though I enjoy it with a passion.
Wordsworth and Keats are cast aside
Where once they were a nation's pride!
Yes, I'm aware that rhyming verse
Is considered, by some, as rather worse
Than jingles in a birthday card!
So life for me is rather hard!
So, here goes, I'll do my best
To put my poecy to the test.
Take the same word and turn and twist it.
(Let's hope there are those who can't resist it!)
PLATITUDE (Blank Verse)
So say it
In your own words.
Let the untidy jumble
Fall from trembling lips.
Never use the words of others
To break my heart
Into a thousand jagged pieces.
Found in some other gutter.
Dredged up to placate me.
Copied from TV programs
And chickflick books.
At least let me have honesty,
But newly minted.
Let them be honest
If nothing else was.