I have so many poems
They wait, pile up, say “send”
They keep on procreating
Drives me round the bend
This bloody rhyme’s addictive
I gotta have my words
Injected for my daily fix
It’s damnably absurd
You say to me go rehab
They will de-rhyme your brain
Jack and Jill won’t climb the hill
They’ll prose you till you’re sane
I’m worried your suggestion
Although you mean me well
Will simply addict-transfer me
Into prosaic hell
-DON MATTHEWS
Don is an Australian writer who focuses on humour. He runs the ‘Flippant, Comic, and Serious’ website.
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Don’s writing highlights a dilemma that seems to have no resolve. Whether it’s poetry or prose neither have a start or end. The writer never rests whether it’s morning, noon, or night, the creative juices keep flowing irrespective of darkness or light. Rhyme can be sneaky, it slips here and there with ease, programming the brain to blow out the words like a furious sneeze. I’ll stop now while I’m still in control or is that a misconception too?
Congratulations Don!
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Words are absolutely addictive, thanks for the cool poem Don.
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