Or, The Romance of the Rime and Rou

With thanks to Louis Carol
‘N’ With Apologies for shaking Shakes ‘n’ joy ce as well.

Of loves and quick!silver and other riches,
Vroom stick witches in black britches.

As you can make out (lucky you)
This is just an excuse to rime

It’s been such a while
I’ve forgotten my style

I’ve decided it’s time for me to be
Fashion my passions
And so be in again.

Passions wax and wane
Especially when they are for the vain.
I fain would not feign.

I’ve always loved rain
It’s helped me stay sane
And ever hated pain
Or things that stayed the same.

That’s been my bane.
They say-no pain no gain
Here’s to Plane Janes.

O what would I do.
With words that wouldn’t rime
Commit the unforgivable crime.
Of torturing them till they fit.
Regardless of how they sit.

I have now a sneaking suspicion.
This poem’s vaporizing in confusion.
That’s because the Big Words are here
Throwing the sweet nothings out of gear.

When a mere of beer’s near
Everyone’s a seer
Talking of whom they hold dear
Name(ly)- their fear.

There’s there, here’s here
A jeer’s there, here’s a leer
Some also wear a tear.

The wor/ods retreat. Their masters-
Thought- approach. Reproach
The words that write themselves
Dancing themselves in tune
To the moon. It’s noon in June.

This poem’s entropying in confusion
Fun joins Ye and Funny is born.
When Fun fucks Ye Foney’s born.
Pop Corn, Mom Corn and baby Corn.
My first pee jay in the poem.

It burbles out gurgles flows
pours water falls. In a stream.
Of un con sciousness.

Messy ol’ Nessie.
Carts me along like a dream.
On cartwheels.It’s a scream.
Green whipped cream on clean jeans.

The words whirl around
Dance with one another
Changing partners with the end of ev’ry line

Stop reading when it gets too much.
I’ll stop writing when it gets too much
We’ll outstare each other

I’ll win-‘cause I read as I write
Taking care to abandon the trite.
Retaining only the light and bright.

‘Cause the heights of kites of delight
Are a sight at night. It feels right
to the tight wight

‘N’ the slack in the sack.Gak!
Not the one who’s got the sack.
Or the one who’s tacked on the rack.
Zac. He’s got a knack for packing a smack.

Don’t worry. B happy. This isn’t suppos’d to make sense.
Ain’t that a relief? No heap of promises to keep,
But miles of deep to go before you sleep.

Sheep in a jeep. Don’t look before you leap.
You’ll never go beyond a seep of a peep.

Tubes take time to warm
Thoughts take time to darn.
Gyan takes time to farm.

Swarms of schoolmarms in tarns
Of marma a laid wearing green jade
Holding spades. Such cards.

Thoughts on a tumble tosser
Blending Bi xie the pixie in a mixie
Shoving for the embrace of space’s case
Trippin’ over their shoelace.

Canter ‘n’ banter in a race of pace
Play in the alleys of their wicked ways.

Puns hide and seek. Rime with fun.
I revel in the Pan demon I um.
That’s why hell’s more fun.
With cream buns young guns
Suns of nun stun.

So when ever you’re glum
Have am kneesia or Ambroseia for fun.
Talk to Tushar

Or string some words together
Play the word guitar
Take the doggerel for a walk
A lark in the park
Pee jay three hee hee
Lemme record it for postmodern posterity.

But I dv8. To re turn the point
‘N’ paint it in a line of rime
Blows the blues away
‘N’ b rings in the sunshine in no time.

Words line up to show you the way
That you knew not when you went your way.

So all fellow atheists, B leave
In the rope of hope. It helps you cope.
Don’t grope for dope.S(i.e.)eze the pope.

It’s trite but true-
It’s the journey that’s the thing
Not to vex the conscience of T-Rex(King).

Crash the trash. Just B brave ‘n’ brash.
Cut a dash ‘n’ a quake cake to fake bake
For Jake the rake’s sake make to take
When he’s awake.

The con/fidence of words
As they arch in March
A spring instep

Keep it simple I say.
Or the rime will say nay

Don’t try 2 be Happy
Play hard to get
Then Happy will come skippin’ along
Begging you not to leave him behind.

I’m queen here. So listen up.
No gloom doom to spoil my view.
That goes for me too.

Off with my head I say
If I think too much or pray
Neither lay in the hay in May
Nor am fey or gay
But simpley grey.

Oh I say it don’t pay
To simply weigh
‘n’ not know the way
to fun ‘n’ frolic

But only to the street with da lal walls
Or fall to the call of the molls.
Because, it palls. Even if she’s tall.

The rimes return reborn
With new part/ners to play.
It doesn’t make sense
When only nonsense makes sense.

Poems rock ‘n’ shock, prose sinks
Pushes you over the brink.
Forces you to drink
makes you lose the link
‘N’ no longer turn mink pink. Or (w)ink.

All rise! Like yeast.
When you’re stuck for fun
Just call on the witches
of Word, Rhythm ‘n’ Rime

The mews leaves.
She’ll be back.
Ce’st la vie. Nope.
Que sera sera. Sirr ah! Sirr ah!
‘N’ with pee jay fore!of the day
We close for the gay hey day.

Phew!A magnum o poo for me
Muse ins. Pseudo he hee-glee.

Words.Locked up too long
When let loose
They let their hair loose
‘N’ went loopy
Goopy Gayen Bagha Bayen.

The sophistry of solipsism.
Soulitude pays off in magnitude.
Let’s navigate to levitate.
Whew. View. I Miss Muse. You’re fickle.
Slew to a trick le.Put me in a pickle.

The spirit of the sprite
We toil not. We do spin.
We are but hillybillies of the field.
No effluence of effart.
My baby.

naughty nutty.
Not at the moment, knotty nutty.

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