I wanted to be a poet,
So I got a book and wouldn’t you know it!
It looked very hard
To get to be a good bard,
But I had a go and this is what I’ve got to show for it.
I read about scan, and iambic pen-
tameter, so I had a go at wri-
ting a Shakespearian sonnet but when
my syllables got too stressed, up gave I.
Rhyme was next. It was very difficult
To make any sense, a bit like a catapult.
Arduous adjectives, alliteration,
Drove me to drivel in dire desperation.
Perhaps a haiku:
Words dripping on to paper,
Tears for the unborn.
My head aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My wrist. I think I need a nice, stiff drink,
This poem lark has only dulled my brains-
One minute more, and I’d have cracked, I think.
Those arty folk can keep their villanelles -
There’s poetry enough in turquoise skies,
In autumn rain, in mossy forest glades;
While in my heart a ballad swells,
For there’s a sonnet in your lovely eyes,
And on your lips a thousand serenades.