Time to take out the ol’ dictionary, see what words I’ve been leaving out, opting against giving a shout
To their own devices
Might be rather nice to give them an inclusion, cause people a little confusion, they the most neglected words in the world
Absurd because they made it inside the dictionary before, can’t say fairer than that, words that need to take to the stage once more
This poem will undoubtedly be a bore in many peoples eyes, but surely, pitted with my wits I can save them from an all too untimely demise
What will they be though, words that may have one way or other lost their balance, their flow
Does this mean I’m becoming a real writer, someone who actually enjoys the part most despise, the bit about studying your art
Rather than dodging these bullets, nursing only what you’ve got so far
I need to learn what works best when it comes to the English language, and if that means a relative amount of word damage when it comes to my poems then so be it
Free it from its prison even if only for a while, make you all smile, remember how you might have used a certain word before, be it while fumbling for your keys on the wrong side of your front door, or in school during the Leaving Cert., I’m sure as sugar a time many of you abhor
What a fair degree of you will think, “why can’t he just stick to the humorous poems, the ones about this and that, funny stuff that makes you think but not too much, why can’t he continue to use a literary crutch?”
Done that, will of course do it again, but right now it’s all about just how well I make use of my pen
By the way, a Bic Biro is all I ever use, the other Goddamn pens – they get messy – have me wasting my time splitting the things in half, seething with abuse
I don’t know what it is, just the feel of that biro, like I’ve found my instrument and until they go out of fashion between that tiny plastic tube lies my passion
So the dictionary is out, finally getting its time in the sun, for Christ sake, now all I feel I’m able for is one lousy pun
Steer clear
Maybe I’ll call upon my mother, see what floats her boat when it comes to a ‘poets’ need to impress
I already know that all she will say is something along the lines of “stop feeling a need to write about girls in the middle of getting undressed!”
I’m still learning, always will be, but isn’t that neat, a treat of sorts to know that nobody will ever get it just right, that you need to earn your name before it goes up in lights
So now it’s all about me, my Bic biro, that dictionary and the sometimes “tripe” that I write