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Thinking in Poetry

I go through these weird moments during conversations when every second sentence I say, usually happens to rhyme with the last one; as if I were trying to converse in sonnets. I’ll admit that there are times when it is contrived (you can clearly tell, because you’ll be instinctively searching for a solid object to hit me with) but more often than not, it just happens of its own accord (when in doubt, check with me before you take the path of non-violence ;-)).

Thinking in Poetry

Sometimes, even before I know
My sentences rhyme and words flow
Living alone I thought would help me grow
And after a year this limerick is what I throw?
Its not Wordsworth, won’t go well with high-brow
They’ll even ridicule me perhaps, call me coarse as a crow
When confronted, this is how our conversation will go
“Not pretty, might look like poetry; is a futile exercise though”
“I was bored! After all I was idle and had a Sunday evening to blow”

posted: 8.3.04

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