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Poet Don't Know It

Like one note Johnny,

poet's clearly in a rut,

writes the same poem,

every day in a different way,

like a squirrel planting a nut.

Likewise, there's Ms. Clean,

freed of anguish in the past,

only writes on that single theme.

dwelling on it to make it last.

Poet without a clue,

who writes without a dictionary,

or even a thesaurus, too.

despised by those who do.

With a vocabulary that is so weak,

only by poetizing can make it tweak.

Doesn't even try to make it work,

caught up in a world of instant twerk.

Poet who writes for Hallmark,

or for Currier and Ives,

must always write sweetness,

into dismal readers' lives.

If alcohol can fuel the muse,

there are poets that freely use.

Only with alky’s liberal libation,

can they light imagination's fuse.

Right words to pontificate,

their idol-given worldly cause,

taken from their good book,

of phrases without a pause.

Those that lost the shift key,

imitating a certain mis-cummings,

thinking that poetry has no rules,

those that follow rules just dummies.

Poets who master all the forms,

concerned devoutly with norms.

While missing a poem's point,

to enlighten, open life's arms.

To write a poem summarizing it all,

anyone's poem may take a great fall.

No matter if you are short or tall,

a stinky poem leaves a great pall.

Remember, roses are red,

until they are dead.

That's all!

Copyright 2023 © Ronald W. Hull

5/4/23

You can read and print this poem my website here.