My words are raucous rebels today. I
cannot make them play
nice. I have doled out generous
spankings, even made them
plank until their cores
were sore. They’re un
-kerning, y e a r n i n g for more
rain; I cannot train them other
wise. They’ve got lives of their
own and they’re bad to the
bone; I’ve tried nets and
bets and threats most un
I’ve even given them a chance
to bump and grind and dance
and they’re all just standing
along the edges staring at
each other like they’ve got
some new form of plague.
Apparently, they’re in a mood
need to brood and brew
and stew in their own sour
I’ve put them in
I love this poem!!!
Oh, the idea of making your words do yoga (plank position). So creative!
Their “uns” were sore.
They’re unkearning, and yet, they’re somehow yearning for more kearning. Those are some confused words! They want to be both curled up tight AND spread out wide.
I cannot train the Mother Rain.
They’ve got lives of their wise.
I love “they’re bad to the bone”!
I’ve tried nets and bone.
I’ve tried net, sand-bone.
I also love the third stanza. And that adorable ending. 🙂
Sounds very similar to the deal we have with teenagers: “they’re all just standing / along the edges staring at / each other like they’ve got / some new form of plague.” And, of course, “apparently they’re in a mood.” It’s always the mood! And time out will only work for you – not for them! 🙂
Yep. All my words were bratty teens this morning. 😉 I think I got some wrangled into a real glosa, just now, though.