L is for Left Field

 

Today, I’m still on thinking sports and plan to send this one out into left field.  It’s the bottom of the fifth and I need a home run.  But I may just strike out.  You be the umpire.  (Or maybe you may think that I’m way out of left field which means odd or strange.)

This poem doesn’t have a sports theme, but it may be a bit odd.  Please enjoy.

Writing poetry gives me a high, 
And I'll explain the reason why;
Finding words that tell how I feel
And making them rhyme gives me a thrill.

It's not without its problems though;
Sometimes the phrases just won't flow.
oft-times when images come to mind,
The precise words are hard to find.

Even trying to write this verse
Can't even rhyme verse-what could be worse?
And I find it awfully hard to compose
With my thoughts withering away like last years dried rose.

Sometimes thoughts come to me in dreams
But the idea on waking is not what it seems.
It's funny how thoughts can pass
And elusively stay beyond one's grasp.

Now the word I cannot find
And as a result I'm now resigned
To try and use another word
But a rhyme for it I've never heard.

But whoa! I remember my rhyme for verse--
I've remembered by word, a word that is terse.
Now hoping the thoughts completing this rhyme
Will not escape my pen this time.

"A rose is a rose," the old saying goes
That was originally written as prose.
Saying "a word is a word," will not make it belong
Ands that's the reason my poem's grown long.
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