It simply is not me,
To write head in the cloud poetry,
My written strokes on parchment with ink,
Beg not to make one confusedly blink,
Over and over again on words that flow ‘ever so’ gracefully,
Yet bewilder the reader with their apparent but hidden beauty?
I am too self-indulgent as a writer to make it succinct,
Heed not verse or metre; just say it as l think,
Not for everyone, l am the first to concede,
But my written thoughts are easier to read,
Than the sleight of quill and puzzling illusion,
Created by masters who deal with confusion!‘
Twas a nightingale whom did so sparingly sprite’,
Means what exactly, apart from a bird who took to flight,
Am l to write in this fluid, yet babbled splendour,
In order to capture and awaken the mind of the awe struck reader?
Or am l to carry on regardless with my simplicity,
Black and white writings that lack the overcast grey?
None too sure am l even to as which style it may be,
It rhymes most of the time, so is that poetry?
Been called quite a few things in its’ time,
From diatribe to poor man’s lyrical rhyme!
Care not do l in all honesty, it pleases others including l,
And as said is easier understood than ‘heads in sky!’
© Rory Matier 2012