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To vaguely amuseAnd banish the bluesWriting clerihewsI would choose.
Mr MerryhewWould ferry youAcross the Thames at BrayOn a tea tray.
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.
I am the clash and collide of the starsbecause I create worlds.
I am the awareness of the treesbecause I hear the wind.
Newly baked and fresh todayEat while hot or take away.
The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.
The man sitting on the settee,stroking a cat and watching TVisn't me.I am the settee.
The space is a friend.I tell it what hurts.
I tell it why I'm not good.The space is a friend.I tell it the bother I'm in.It won't let me tell lies.
Thinker to Jace
If I'm not reciting a poem,
my tongue won't let me talk,
I can only bark.
But barking can't say much,
A poem is not an Antbut it can be quite short.A poem is not a Bananabut there may be something under its skin.A poem is not a Coat