Poetry, I do suppose,

Is feeling molded into prose.
A metaphor or simile
And there you have it: poetry.

March 17, 2011

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Well, I couldn't sleep tonight without writing a poem for the greenest day of the year. The last line doesn't flow perfectly but I can't think of a solution.

Some people claim to see them
Time and time again:
The tiny guards of treasure –
Surly, drunk, green men.

They guard the pots of treasure,
A legend long foretold,
Taken by some shoemakers –
How I could use that gold!

The impish little leprechauns
Hid it in an emerald field.
They won’t just tell – so make them
Surrender secrets long concealed.


Peter Goulding said...

"Throttle them and maybe
the secret will be revealed" ???

Or maybe use 'concealed' in some way?

Nice one, again, Nicholas.

Nicholas said...

Thank you for the advice; works much better now. Thanks for the compliments as always!

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