His promises are flattering
Though his motives are unclear,
He's either blindly enthusiastic
Or wildly insincere,
Though it's cost him nothing,
His everything is here,
His promises are "yes, yes",
And "of course I will, my dear"
Beware the empty words,
Full with what you want to hear.'
Blind enthusiasm
Or wildly insincere
A mood is half a poem
In itself is a poem without words
And many a time I've luxuriated, lazily in that languid frame of mind
Leisurely loquacious,
Lolloping lovingly over lines
Floating weeks above a keyboard
But when falling fingers finally come down to land,
They find they are only able to forge
Half a poem
For they've found the words
and weighed them,
But the migrating mood has moved
Moved on from the mind
So I'm afraid this half
Will have to do,
For you.
This master-work of yours, This magnum opus, This poiema, Is sat in his underpants In a neglected and untidy flat, Typing on a laptop he bou...
