You may recall I was quite mad when my plant disappeared. So mad I expressed myself in verse.
Now, when I mentioned this at work, I also pointed interested folks to my statement on the web.
But one person asked a question I felt a poetic response was called for:
For Paul
August 19, 2005
(Who on reading To The Thief, asked "But how is it a poem?")
Modern verse
Stands accurs'd,
The rhymes weak,
The meter burst.
Who wastes the time
Fit word to lines?
Hallmark writers
And morose men,
Their true loves thrall,
'Til true love ends.
And folks like me,
A helpless case.
Pull pen away,
I'll rap to space.
Modern verse
Stands accurs'd.
The poems bad-
The critics worse!
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