Poetry is for wimps.


When I think of poetry,
I think of maidens,
skipping through meadows
in gossamer gowns,
with baskets full of flowers.


Can you imagine a poet
going out for a beer with the guys
after a hard day
of writing poems?


I can't.


Poetry is for wimps.


It's all about doilies
and butterfly wings,
or stuff so personal
only the writer
could possibly know
what it's about,
which really
makes me crazy.


And half the time
it doesn't even rhyme anyway.

© Paul Dallgas-Frey