BARRED AS A BARD

BARRED AS A BARD

RETIREMENT?, SUBLIME!
BUT, WHAT TO DO WITH TIME?
I THOUGHT A BIT,
CAME UP WITH IT ,
I'D SPEND MY DAYS IN RHYME.

IT SEEMED, IN MY NAIVETY
CONCERNING THAT ACTIVITY,
JUST PEN AND INK
AND TIME TO THINK
SHOULD LEAD TO CREATIVITY.

HOW LITTLE I THEN KNEW!
WHEN I SET OUT TO DO
WORD SYMETERY
BEFUDDLED ME,
I DIDN'T HAVE A CLUE.

A FRIEND  (WHO HAD SOME BREEDING),
SAID:  WRITING COMES FROM READING.
AND SO I'D PORE
O'ER FABLED LORE,
'TIL EVERY PORE WAS BLEEDING.

I READ OF GRECIAN URNS.
WILL SHAKESPERE'S TWISTS AND TURNS.
AND, IN MY SLEEP
I'D PROBE THE DEEP
WHERE DANTE'S FIRE BURNS.

THEN, WHEN I'D HAD MY BELLY
FULL OF KEATS AND SHEELEY,
I'D TRY AGAIN
BUT, FROM MY PEN
LEAKED VINTAGE EMMETT KELLY.

MY POETRY WAS CLOWNISH,
MY COUNTENANCE GREW FROWNISH.
I TOOK TO BOOZE,
AND SANG THE BLUES,
ALAS, MY BLUES WERE BROWNISH.

MY RHYMING EFFORTS FAILED.
I'LL NEVER BE REGALED.
THE BARD, 'TIS SURE,
CAN REST SECURE.
I'M ON MY PEN IMPALED.

I'VE LABORED QUITE A SPELL WITH IT,
AND HAVEN'T DONE TOO WELL WITH IT.
PERHAPS SOMEDAY I'LL TRY A PLAY.
FOR NOW, I SAY: TA HELL WITH IT!

BILL WARREN      NOVEMBER 30, 2008