Another week has passed us by,
May turned into June, my, oh my.
Soon it will be the 4th of July,
Followed by the dog days of August to make me sigh.
Racking my brain for something to write,
For my weekly tirade due at midnight tonight,
Deciding a poem will surely make it right,
By keeping the topic unusually light.
About to start my entry with a bunch of complaints,
Something told me to stop and use some restraint.
Nobody wants to hear them anyway, so let’s be quaint;
What, no bellyaching? Please don’t faint.
Attempting to fill a 500-word essay in rhyme,
Can certainly take a good bit of time.
So pardon my quatrain if it makes no sense,
And if the verbs are occasionally in the wrong tense.
Now that I got that out of the way,
What in the hell else am I going to say?
Pardon my vulgarity, but it could have been worse,
So let’s continue the ruse with another verse.
In music a poetic line is considered a lyric,
Be it happy or sad, barbaric or satiric.
Well on my way with this notable extravaganza,
While sneaking in another sensational stanza.
Another trick to fill the void is relying on alliteration.
Shall we enunciate its usage for your consideration?
Dare me to dance daintily down Delaney’s dire demarcation,
With dalmatians drooling dramatically during delirious demonstrations.
OK, so that’s stretching things on the side of ridiculous,
Is that on port, starboard, stem, stern or frivolous?
This exercise in poetry is really grasping at straws,
Destroying the art with a metaphorical chainsaw.
It’s 10:33 p.m. as I’m writing these words of wit,
Midnight’s less than an hour and a half away and biting on the bit,
Awaiting for the diatribe from this certified twit,
But will find an epic, nonsensical, rhythmical blip.
The following are my reactions to click-bait advertisement;
Sorry, I couldn’t go 500 words with the set-forth requirement,
Of not complaining until my quota was through,
So, let’s continue without further ado.
The words in quotes are what get my goat,
Every time they’re presented on my Social Media timeline.
Whom are they to determine what is so sublime,
For me to stop what I’m doing and give them my time?
“Here’s something you need to hear,”
No, I don’t. Give me some beer.
“Here’s something you need to read,”
No, I don’t. It’ll waste my time indeed.
“Here’s something you need to know,”
No, I don’t. Your article is sure to blow.
“Here’s something you can’t live without,”
Oh yes I can, without a doubt!
Forty minutes are left to go,
Willie Makeit? Kenny Holdit? Betty Don’t.
That’s the punchline to the old joke,
“Twenty Yards to the Outhouse,” a book written by a woman and two blokes.
Then there’s The Purple Stream, by I. P. Peculiar;
How about Give Me Your Life Savings, by R. U. Nutts?
Fifteen more words are left to this silly rumination,
I’m sure at this point you’ve had enough!
Thanks for stopping by and putting up with my nonsense; and, as always, for your continued support.