[NicknamedBob]

"Now that's poetry!"


Remember this?



Tripping over the Tripod


I place each little gem with a meticulous delight.
And then allow my lips a smile to think I’ve got it right.
Each word must form a cadence like some beads upon a string,
And form a rhythmic lullaby if one should choose to sing.

Concatenating rhymings like the buzzing of a saw,
When someone hears the words they will be mesmerized with awe.
The mechanistic ticking of monotonistic tocks,
A sturdy dancing metronome within a room of clocks.

You dash upon the scene as with the flourish of a cape,
Bedazzle me with brilliance til my jaw begins to gape.
You spin and point out vistas that have been within my grasp,
If I had not been sunken in my tidy little task.

And up you leap upon the wall to gaze upon the land,
You reach into your pocket, and with a flashing hand,
Splash wild colors across the sky, of a bright and starlit night.
And sing a song of derring-do up to the pale moonlight.



NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . .February 27, 2004

[Soaring Feather]

I think I do remember this one Bob, it's as good now as it was in 2004.