Red Neck from Farmin’ © Flickr

Just a Poem

This here is just a poem.

I thought I'd writ today.

Poetry is not my occupation,

wouldn't have it any other way.

To some, poetry is a livelihood,

but it ain't very lively to me.

Seems like more like it's dead,

more like that Dead Poets Society.

I rote a love sick poem to a girl I liked,

made her sick enough to throw up.

Now ain't that the darndest thing?

Right into her favorite loving cup!

Went to one of them poetry slams.

Everybody slamming, bang boom, bang.

I got up and screamed bloody murder,

next thing, bullets flew and shots rang.

Got so scared, nearly crapped my pants.

Now only recite to my uncles and aunts.

They turn up their noses and walk away,

have disowned me since that poetry day.

So, I writ this poem to tell you I'm gone,

no more poetry writin' from dusk till dawn.

My poetry days will soon be over.

After I kick the dog. Move over! Rover!

Copyright 2022 © Ronald W. Hull

12/8/22

You can read and print this format my website here.