Cinahilger's Blog



Waxy poetry

Another day has dawned, cold.

My coffee is cold now, too.

I can’t think of a thing to write

A thing to write to you.

So I’m writing a poem (it’s in rare form)

About how my brain has gone dead.

I’m digging and picking and prodding

Prodding words out of my head.

Coffee and cold and calliope

Are words that begin with “C”.

So does my name, come to think of it.

I’m thinking alliteratively.

I wanted to write about Jesus

I wanted to write about John

But instead I’m writing a poem

A poem about the dawn.

I must admit it’s almost noon now.

And dawn was a long time ago

But it seems so poetic to mention it

Along with death and snow.

I don’t even read that much poetry

so to write some is really quite dumb.

Hey, did you know that the space bar

is the only button you hit with your thumb?

Alright, this is getting quite silly

and I must find something better to do.

Writing poetry willy-nilly

is just wasting your time, too.

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