This week I just decided to write a few poems. The purpose behind each one is self-explanatory, I think, but don’t hesitate to ask about anything.
A shivering wind, a skeletal grin, a prickly pin, and elven kin.
These words grow faint with a vintage taint
Old concepts now quaint like an old coat of paint.
A snazzily witty fixed-width poem Is the most irksome poem to write Trickier than the wicked Jeroboam When he led Israel from the light Peculiar words creatively plucked From the dim recesses of language Like waste from a shoddy aqueduct Before they enter a wrong passage What I write next does not matter Rhyme or proverb, it'll be a pain Though perhaps if it's the latter My efforts may not all be in vain I hope you have enjoyed this text Though the rhythm is pure anarchy I'll write some proper verse next But look - a three-headed monkey!
In the times gone by
It is no wonder why
The people would scry
And look up to the sky
“I wonder,” they said
As they laid back in bed
“Why the stars look so fed
When the world is so dead.”
For meaning comes not to those who search
Nor even to those who frequent church
Looking at stars will leave you in the lurch
As will fire, water, nature, and birch.
There’s but one thing that’ll put your search to end
You can read about it in the greatest book ever penned
A man, a priest, a lord, a king,
A Son so glorious he gives us cause to sing
Meaning’s not found in creation, but its Creator
Our God, our Father, our Redeemer, our Saviour.
Observations 