When the period tumbled off the page,
I felt no distress, it brought me no rage,
It was as a bug, a shed old leaf,
no matter to wrack me in pain or in grief,
I watched it pachinko down these same coupled lines,
and then it swan dived off a well chosen rhyme,
As for why it did, I’m no grammarian,
I can’t explain punctuation,
So I just wrote my next couplet,
with words alive and fresh and new,
which I doubled to a quatrain – meaning two, (couplets)
On, on I wrote, until I’d almost done it,
I’d nearly writ a fricken’ sonnet,
When I saw that absent those absurd dots,
a line is more that just one thought,
In a world where eddies bend and blendmy thoughts a stream that never ends,
And just to justify ink blots unkind,
does it make sense I must stop my mind?
No! I choose to write on in my way,
exploring Natures’ naivete,
In birds a flutter, in mice who mutter,
in falling stars and peanut butter,
By chickadees who sneeze with ease,
by cats who scout them as they please,
So read on friends, no poem ends,
just pardon me if now and then
I leave you with a gap,
You’ll forgive me, I’m just round the bend
to buy more notebooks and some pens
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