Poem 48: Bully’s song

(The poetic form selected for this week is the French triolet).

I heard them drive a nail in my coffin.
He’ll die, they said, once he loses air.
Next there was a thud and they were laughin’.
I heard them drive a nail in my coffin.

I used to give them cheek, in fact quite often.
Apparently it’s more than they could bear.
I heard them drive a nail in my coffin.
He’ll die, they said, once he loses air.

17 thoughts on “Poem 48: Bully’s song

  1. Yvonne

    I thought you might like this ‘dusty and shadowy’ poem, Bruce Almighty.

    The Poem of the Future
    By J.R. Solonche

    The poem of the future will be smaller.
    It will fit in the palm of your hand,
    on your wrist, in your ear.

    The poem of the future will not need
    bulky batteries or cumbersome wires.
    It will be powered by moonlight and weed.

    The poem of the future will be automatic.
    It will go for months without routine maintenance.
    It will be faster, smoother, with a digital tick.

    The poem of the future will be lighter.
    It will be made of plastics and exotic metals.
    It will be available in hundreds of shapes and colors.

    The poem of the future will make our lives true.
    It will perform in a second what it takes
    the poem of the present a day to do.

    The poem of the future will talk to us.
    It will say things like “Buy IBM,” and “Be my friend,”
    and “Pulvis et umbra sumus.”

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply
    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      “We are dust and shadows” – a quote from Horace for those who must look it up! Thank you, Yvonne, for the poem. And it is amazing how things turn in a circle with Horace being the poem of the future!

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply
    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      I find that refrains either enhance or kill a poem. Many a ghazal have I dumped in the bin! I’m not sure I know why things work in these traditional forms – rhyme, rhythm, number of syllables, refrains…

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

I delight in having my dull life coloured by your intelligent perceptions, your wit, and your vivacity.

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