This week is basic rhyme, 8 syllable lines, iambic. Has a Dr. Seuss feel, but not a Dr.Seuss feeling. Straight rhyme is what got me interested in poems in the first place.
A Something
(A thing between the Speck and Spot)
A nearly self-aborted thought
An asterisk
*A formless clot
Unleashing then a ropey plot
A String asked Knot, "Ask naught, ask not
Ignore it now, and wish it rots-
That Something meant to be forgot."
The Something though had been begot
It quivered up and fetched a pot
The Soup was done, the Cook was shot
The Something meant to be forgot
Exhumed the Space, the Speck, the Spot
Unstitched the tethered stringy plot
Then winking once, it was no more
What was, was not
Some Something had effected lots
2 comments:
I love your thoughts and those forgot. It reminds me of something you are trying to rember and it comes to you later I could see my thought in your poem
is sometimes scary to have flashbacks of things you hope were forgotten forever. They are like clouds you try and recapture and put waaway forever.
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