Since I’ve written poetry, my dreams have been quite WEIRD,
I write an awful lot you see, but never have I feared
To sleep because of rhyming verse; (it really is quite strange!)
My dreams are getting worse and worse;
My thoughts I shall arrange…
When up towards the sky I go, it's like I’m really flying!
But then I fall to Earth below and end up clearly dying!
I see the woman of my dreams (pun intended, but pardon the cliché!)
She's aghast and loudly screams because my FACE starts to decay!
Instead of ‘clearly dying'... why not ‘merely sighing’?!
Instead of ‘face decay’... the ‘games we play’!!
Of all the rhymes my brain could place, it kills me off and rots my face!
When down on scorching sand I lie, just sipping on a cocktail,
From hand my drink does fiercely fly: I’m maimed by a 'full of muck' quail!
But if the foul quail spots a birdbath and so I find a safe retreat,
With many a scenic footpath… I find I have NO FEET!
Instead of ‘quail’… why not ‘female’?
Instead of ‘no feet’… ‘a sweet’!!
Of all the rhymes my brain could sort, it spills my drink and makes me short!
So because that happens in my sleep, I had a little plan!
I just won’t sleep at all, and keep my eyes fixed on ‘the man’…
Who stares at me across the room; (he wears a long, white coat).
He tells me I should nod off soon, but I can’t... I can't and WON'T...
© David J Martin (2009)
Honorable mention
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