Sunday, August 21, 2011

One Man's Meat


It takes all sorts to make a world,
We hear that all the time.
I find there's something addictive
About a poem in rhyme.
And yet I know there are others,
Who find it too sing-song,
To predictable and bland,
Too easy to get wrong.
It wasn't always like this, of course;
Way back in another time;
A poem wasn't a poem,
Unless it utilised rhyme.
Keats and Shelley revelled in it,
Wordsworth did as well;
Even Shakespeare's sonnets
Cast a rhyming spell.
So it's a matter of fashion;
Rhyming is 'in' or 'out';
And rhyming will be 'in' again
One day, without a doubt.
I find the little cartoon, above,
Very much to my taste,
For I find similes galore
Frequently misplaced.
Some rambling modern verses,
Concerning 'deep emotions',
Often leave me all at sea,
Drowning in verbose oceans.
Having said that, I sometimes find
A gem which strikes a chord,
With not a single rhyme in sight,
It's instantly adored.
So I'll continue writing rhymes,
For writing them is fun
And 'one man's meat........' and all that jazz
Means there's room for everyone.

A wintry day, with threatening clouds.
The city bathed in gloom.
The sun attempting fragile shine
Begging for equal room.
The barest reflection of a gleam
On the water there below!
The sun admits, on reflection,
'It's not much of a show!'
Sadly he packs his bags and leaves.
He'll stay in bed all day!
Down comes the rain! The clouds have won!
The triumph of the grey!

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