Mr. Write's Page

Poetry never registered very high on my radar screen. I don’t relate to poems. I guess I’m just a doofus with no appreciation for the finer arts.

This is the only poem I ever wrote.

———

Simon Yerple

Simon Yerple first arose
At half past eight;
Flexed his toes,
Blew his nose,
Donned his clothes;
Returned to bed at half past nine,
There to dream of vintage wine.

Simon Yerple rose again
At half past two;
Stroked his chin,
Wrote his kin,
Baked a hen;
Mailed the bones to Uncle Sid
And chuckled at the deed he did.

Rocky Smith
May 1980

———

No appreciation at all.