The Poet's Dream

[Leanne]

I want to write a sonnet of such splendour
That generations echo with my name;
A poem that would make me a contender
For lasting international acclaim.
I dream of such immortal admiration,
The world would shape itself beneath my pen;
Before their greed, the heads of every nation
Would stop to read my words and think again.
The face of poetry would bear my image,
And devotees would flock to kiss my feet;
My message would be one of strength and courage,
To make each damaged soul at last complete.
I sit to write this verse to span the years
And find my muse has fucked off to Algiers.

[addy]

Classic

[penguin]

I loved this....apart from the penultimate line, which is so bad I'm almost inclined to believe you made it so on purpose.

[Leanne]

Who me? Surely not!

[popeye]

Poetry is music in words; and music is poetry in sound: both excellent sauce, but those have lived and died poor, who made them their meat.
Thomas Fuller.

Just wondering if being a past purveyor of cheese causes l'odeur terrible

[Erthona]

Actually she mad it so on pompous!

As the cowardly lion would say "ain't it the truth" as there is more truth in this than most would realize. The muse always flees when egoism makes its entrance! :p (Of course as Leanne is her own muse I don't know how that is a problem )

Sorry to hear about your adenoid problem Leanne Stiff upper septum and all that "wot, wot"*? Hope you find it palate able!

Dale


*I thought about using "wat wat" as you are close to that part of the world but I refrained.