I'm writing poetry
in my dreams
words and lines
that sometimes rhyme
from some ethereal place
it seems
there's music in the background
glorious sun is shining 'round
the summer dew
is still quite new
and there are birds
flitting through
these dreams I've found
some themes
are bright and airy
there are colourful flowers blooming
cheerful flare and petals
are daintily frilled
somehow these dreams
are never scary
when I wake
I find I'm thrilled
those long gone poets
of yesteryear
might think
these dreamy words and lines
are bold and somewhat chill
besides these fruity lines
I've dreamt
they're so unskilled
even though they're childlike
master John Donne and theologian Thomas Traherne
might think
these poems
my trumpeted dreams
are vain
simply half-baked
and charred
released from Hell's hot fiery gate
my arms are aching
from the elbows down
my head is pounding hard
my face is wearing
an upside down frown
from all my petty work
I've gone and done
in my poetic graveyard
I pray to God
that I might find
some solace and some rave
from all my saved work
but oddly if I don't
I'll surely realize
that I'm just another
stale and foolish jerk
I lay here
farting in my bed
and I can't help but wonder
if those words and lines I write
are something that I read
still there's rave music
running through my brain
there are poems
reciting fantastic stanzas
in my fanatic head
those frantic words and lines
I find in my antiquated dreams
that mountain of brown beans
I ate for dinner
even though
they ran with rhyme
they aren't a major crime
they don't make me
a pardoned poet
or an ardent winner
I know
this is nothing
but a silly faze
I'm sure time will prove
these poetic dreams
shall never stay
all my toots and farts
my stinking poems
will never blow
the literary world away
I'm covering
my soot filled eyes
so I can't see or read
I'm shutting
my brutish mouth
so I can't freely say
those silly words and poems
a dilly-dally ass
would never dare to bray
I know these frilly words
are mostly
green eggs and ham
they're all garnished
with brash whatsit and whoseit play
these amateur lines
I've written today
Dr. Seuss
would be ashamed
to repeat or even say
if the muppets
made an appearance
in my ill-stared dreams
every reluctant muppet
would surely
cry and scream

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