TROUBLED VERSE
Was I supposed to be writing,A poignant foreword or a back word.
To my scribbled poetic words,
I always wonder what comes first.
It always seems excruciating to me,
When I plunder my way through words.
There's a caseation of my mind,
That helps me through writing rhymes.
Like if I asked you of course,
What came first the chicken or the horse.
My writings gibberish so are my thoughts,
Where are my knife and fork without them.
Or should they be put down on paper of course,
How can my mind trot along without a horse.
So here I am on a whimsical whimsy of a whim,
Are we all sitting comfortable than I shall begin.
POET BAY
Before I began to write,
I headed out to Poet Bay.
To join the ship of poets,
Before they sailed away.
Uncle Tom was in his cabin,
He'd been sorting out the crew.
I was excepted as a poeteer,
Although I didn't have a clue.
A friendly bunch a motley crew,
Couldn't be happier with the one's I knew.
With all you can consume a poetry Savoir-faire,
I even managed to read some confrère.
We travelled to ports from post to post,
Reading and writing from coast to coast.
Sharing experiences along the way,
Until we all got back home to poet bay.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
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Editors' choiceWritten on 2023-06-13 at 00:13
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