*****
Poetry
Aye, Captain
and good lads and lasses,
a well-fed, pot bellied crew are we,
Set sail each day on these windless doldrums,
Cargo hold filled to capacity.
Ports of call where no ship can anchor,
Bottomless abyss of minds in torpor,
Some high as a kite,
Some a long, drunken stupor,
Then Stoogie arrives with his old pooper scooper.
No ill intent or foul wishes for thee,
Just a joke with rhyme akimbo,
Monkey-parrot devil-dog erasers,
We patrol this strange sea for the lost,
on our good ship, three masted
Will-o’-the-wisp chaser, her name?
“Poetry”
*****
I’ve been trying to be a published poet for years. I’ve sold everything but poetry…songs, essays, magazine articles…I need an agent, I think.