Parting With The Poet….
By Jim Rambo
She desired the poet More than anyone she had wanted In her life.
Her heart raced when he read aloud To the group she had joined Just months before…. for intellectual stimulation.
His deep voice boomed with lyrical rhyme Covering all in a word mantel of wisdom. He was uncharmed by bright skies and butterflies.
And she even quivered a bit as he read While his long, silver- gray locks reflected the morning sun. Was it love, lust or another form of poetic license? she mused.
In time she had her way with His Rhymeness. Her adulation and repetition of his language of love, of blossoming bosoms and skin-tight jeans Wove a seamless web around yet another victim of his own verse.
They togethered a year, two at most And she discovered that the prize, her poet, Was, within, a lesser gold than the promise of his lyrics.
So it became necessary that she, The non-poet, the weaver of webs, the seeker of lasting love Craft the final lines in their in their own verse, and so she did:
“Alas, my bard, I fear we must part For your words of lust Come not from your heart But from paperback books I found at Walmart!”
(Credit to Margie Keane for the closing lines.)
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- September 2023 – Issue - August 31, 2023
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