The Crinkling Poet

So the crinkling poet raised his pen
Thought he’d try to versify again
Capture the sunbeams in his little words
But the rainbows browned into lard and curds
Gone his gift as he’d lost his muse
Serenity crimped by the morning’s news
Reds and diamonds, rain with mist
Sad beautiful eyes with lips unkissed
Cat pounced, but missed by a whisker
And his 9-yr old goes tsk tsk tsker

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on February 11, 2012, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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