A Poet’s Dilemma

Circadian…Cinnabar Red…

I want to go back to bed

Rhymes and Reasons…

Oh, WAIT!…Should it be Treason’s?


Butter…Butter…My hearts’ all-a-flutter

Writing these words…writing…writing…


“Sing a song of six-pence…

A pocket full of rye…”


No…No…That’s been done to death

Oh, poor Mother…She really was a silly old goose.


Words a-plenty…Buz-z-z-ing in my head

Circadian…yes, yes, the rhythms of life

Cinnabar red…better words instead




My lunch with the bunch

That I never started…No, I won’t say it

It’s been written on every wall

By poetic squatters waiting for pay-dirt

If you don’t understand it, just sit a spell

It’ll come to you by and by


My pockets stuffed with paper

Oh, what a caper

See you later…Alligator


As I twirl my artistic pen with my fingers

Waiting for the words for my very next zinger!


Janice J. Robinson

©  October 19, 2011


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