Do you feel the energy as I peck with my finger.
I know you are there. But does my voice linger?
How do my words sound? What am I saying?
Why do I do this? Is anyone paying? $$$
This summer, remember to refresh with a Coke.
Ha Ha, a dumb monetization joke.
Let’s get to the point of why I am here.
I’m turning to you because no one is near.
And with a little sadness in my heart tonight.
I decided to just get up and and write.
And writing bad poems gives me a full-fledged chuckle.
Even if true poets think I’m a major schmuck-le.
(Listen to the sound of the pressing of the keys. Not the words.)
Trying to avoid sounding like Frasier Crane, but I’m listening.
Hey, Neil. I hear you.
The Bartok piece reminds me of one my Dad has been looking for for ages. ‘Bout time I looked for it again. Cheers.
There’s a bit of poetry in everything, even a schmuck-le.
I enjoyed this schmuck-ly rhyme.
I hope you’ll write another sometime.
“schmuckle” – I like it.
Ah, Ogden Nash has a lot to answer for.
P.S. I live in Germany. “Schmuckle” sounds just fine to me.
Sad melody to a somewhat whimsical poem.
Have you ever considered a next career in greeting card writing? I think you might be onto something.