Flip flop,
biscuit gravy sop,
spilt on the floor mop,
cream the crop,
or pig the slop.
Wallow with the hog,
or bow wow with the dog.
Become legion,
or remain pigeon.

Whatever!

I'm going to keep what I got,
I don't have much hot.
Then keep on climbing for the top,
try real hard not to flip flop.
I've flip flopped quite a bit,
incoming took some hit,
still I refuse to quit.

Quit what,
doing the chicken strut?
Got a book and a few lousy verse,
hanging with the writing curse.
Work an eight hour,
every now and then bring my wife a flower,
try to keep the marriage from turning sour.

I'm not stuck in a rut,
at least if I stay off my butt.
But my butt drags me down,
on the sofa I smile and frown.
However I initiate,
learn to appreciate.
I appreciate my strong,
leave my lousy verse alone.
Go back and meet,
hello there I greet,
refuse to push delete.
Genesis of a poet,
like you didn't know it.

OnepoetGem