It is very clear to me that your main poetry skill lies in not writing poetry, ever.
Certainly, you are very handsome. And your ears have a quality to them that I suppose some people would find highly interesting. But poetry? No – better stick to prose.You like stick insects, you go on holiday to Wales, and you have three cats all named Smiffy. But that doesn’t make you a poet. It makes you almost embarrassingly beautiful to behold, but there’s more to rhyming than your supremely attractive toes and your delicate nostrils.
I say this – take your blue shoes, and run to the nearest novelist to ask for a job. Because poetry is not your gig, no sirree Bob.
One last thing – is that a wig?
Random Poetry!
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The Cry-Babies that Live in the Sun
When the Satsuma sun rises on a soft summer morningthe Cry-Babies are tearful:
“Phew, phew! Too hot, too hot! I want the sun to set!” they howl.
When the sallow sun sets on a wild winter eveningthe Cry-Babies are snivelling:
“Brrr, brrr! Too cold, too cold! I want the sun to rise!” they bawl.
Silly little Cry-Babies! Don’t know what they want.Darkness, lightness…coldness, warmness…happiness, sadness.
“Yes! Yes! That’s what we want! All them! All them!”
Cry-Babies…huh!
John Rice
The author encourages parents, teachers and librarians to read the poems to children and young people. However, the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.
