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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Madverbs
He frightened all the birds, scarecrowishly. Her hobby was riding horses, hobbyhorsically.
They enjoyed camping, intentsly.
He walked through the fog, mysteriously.
He stamped his foot, ground-breakingly.She sat on the chair, deep-seatedly.
They bounded across the field, grasshopperly.
She splashed about in puddles, wellingtonly.
She sprinkled herbs on her pasta, gingerly.He tramped along the trunk road, elephantically.
She hobbled along the mountain path, walking-stickly.
He grabbed the steering wheel, clutchingly.
She appeared in a camping commercial, inadvertently.
He held in his hand a book of scary stories, grippingly.She tended the garden, sluggishly.
He backpacked across the galaxy, star-trekkingly.
Her soup was so hot, pipingly.
She bopped and boogied all night long, foxtrotingly.
She walked across the beach, flipfloppily.He slipped on the ice, skiddingly,
and broke his arm, humourously.
He put his clothes in the washing machine, tubdrumtuckly.
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.
