We in the verse world sometimes
Feel inhibited by our rhymes
And wish that solid prose
Was our chosen pose.
Like verse monster John Keats,
I avoid booze and sweets,
But rhyme’s an addiction, the same
As any hard drug. Can we claim
Addiction to verse
Is harmful? No, even prose is worse.
Verse is mathematical and musical
And these two fulfill
The human spirit divine.
Rhyme isn’t bad. Here’s what I hate.
Especially when I’m late:
Pontificating. Drinking wine.
Blathering on
About nothing until dawn.
The sharp wit
Of a good couplet slays the twit—
But the Keatsian ode
Is the heavenly road.
I rhyme all the time,
And I’m fine.
I’m not a bitter, prosaic bore,
Or a diary whore.
I’ll set things straight
And bring happiness to the state.
I will admit, my mathematical rhymes
Do make me lonely at times.
Rhyming in your face
(Like rap!) is the worst disgrace.
A good rhyme is best
Read silently. All noisy seems the rest.
And the bad, no matter what, will tend
To ruin the good. Just because it’s good.
So quietly now. Quietly. Poem, end.