You may write down your own poetry
With your sappy, twisted lines,
You may spread your love so liberally
Please stop, this is a sign.

If my tone besets you, vex not, endure,
As we do to your spew,
I am not a poet, just concerned, unsure
About the words you slew.

All hail poetry, the greatest gift,

Biggity, boggity, boo.

As pen makes love to paper,
Why all the free verse stuff,
Just like this isn't poetry,
Neither are random,
commas,
In places,
To make it,
Look like;
This.

Words are a gift from the Gods,
So lest they wrest them from me...
I know my words may put me at odds
With those with sensibilities.

Rhyming doesn't make poetry,
Nor does meter, wit, or wail,
Pee in snow is not artistry.
Neither is vomit in a pail.

Private poetry should be read in private.


Penned by my hand on the 1st of Mayan, in the year 604 AF.