As poems go, this one will be forgotten,

you'll never find it in some "classics" book,

it's not sensational, nor is it rotten,

it doesn't have a start known as a "hook."

There's no flamboyant, witty, catchy title -

like "Spiderman" or "Silence of the Lambs,"

it has some rhyming lines (well, that is vital)

and rolls along with help from its iambs.

It's written in pentameter - that's easy,

this poem won't win medals for its form,

it's not ironic, dark or rather sleazy,

and neither is it fairly nice and warm.

No epic ode of medieval slaughter,

or sonnet to a love beneath a moon,

it's not a bed time story for a daughter,

some nursery rhyme with cow and dish and spoon.

It won't be read to classes by a teacher,

or referenced to in scholars' finals tests,

or chanted to the Heavens by some preacher,

nor left on tables to be read by guests.

This poem simply is - because it's written,

no metaphors at all is what you'll find,

if you believe there's secrets deftly hidden -

I promise you - they're only in your mind.

more of my FUNNY POEMS here