I’ll let the words run wild today
For I have nothing much to say,
No constraints of schemed up rhyme
Or metered feet restrained by time;
Just couplet hands soft held in verse
Where pleasured dreams their songs rehearse;
Trite simile and metaphor
Can wait in line outside the door,
Dropping consonants all the same,
Alliteration is their game;
Quick to strive for strong allusion
Hinting names or known conclusions;
Far to prone to anaphora,
Far to prone to simply bore you.
Rude assonance and dissonance
Stay on the sidewalk by the fence,
For no enjambment do we need
To state how simple words be freed;
Hyperbole, much like my song
Is overwrought and over done,
And so I here, inversion prone
Do full accept each lurid groan;
Where did my precious words embark?
Why onomatopoeia park!
To jump and bump and squeal and screech,
It keeps them neatly off the street.
In this childish animation
Where in playful synecdoche
They grow a little more like me,
Quite not afraid to bend a phrase
Or to a strident voice up raise,
Not worried so to whom offend
Always dreaming outside the pen,
Imagining that imagery
Is best what you, not others see.
Where have my phrases gone today?
But why, of course, they’re out to play.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.