Pockets Full of Verse
I have a pocket full of rhymes
approaching poetry at times.
I am always writing a lot;
pot boilers which don’t have a plot.
Sensible? It doesn’t matter;
but i try to induce laughter.
Dogs, or cats, or even rabbits
or people who have strange habits.
Perhaps a strange philosophy
which can fit nobody but me:
such as cosmic consciousness
or pain creating happiness*
I scratch wherever it itches,
put rhymes in my shirts and britches.
In the pockets of my pants
are the rhythms to which i dance.
*There must be a purpose for pain
which is kind of hard to explain.
Happy that it has gone again
altho memories may remain.
I don’t have any writer’s block
just waiting for the muse to knock.
I think of a phrase–write it down
and find a pocket in my gown.
None of these may seem terrific
but they’re why i am prolific.
Waiting for something to make sense
is a kind of incompetence.

Walt Abbott–4-20-2009