Rhyme Spree!

Wow, I guess we got inspired on the same night . . . . how weird!!! Lol oh well. What can I say? It must be one of those nights . . . . . .

  

Rhyme spree!!!!!

Here is my little spree

Of rhyming words for free

Without my cup of tea

Dear me,

What can I say?

Another issue today?

Just another way

Of living the day

Is for me to lay

Here to pay

Here to pray

Here on the ground

Listening to the sound,

Where none is found

Dreamless bound

Realities pound

Turning it around

Sniffing out the hound

Going light to dark

What’s that, hark,

There, it’s stark

It’s no park,

It’s pain,

It’s the ordain

Force, not fain,

Strong, not vain,

Secret, not plain,

So use the cane,

Break it out,

Let yourself shout,

Don’t do your pout,

Don’t play the lout,

That’s not what it’s ‘bout

Don’t be ‘cause‘n doubt,

Because that in the end,

The message doesn’t send,

And you’re stuck to fend

Off all your friends

When you finally descend

Around the bend

Out of the trend,

When life you lend.

But now I’m done,

No more fun

Now that I hate the sun

No intentioned pun

‘cause now I shun

My own poum – - – - – - – (poem but . . . . whatever works)

“How Did You Die?”

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what’s that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there-that’s disgrace.
The harder you’re thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,
It’s how did you fight-and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he’s slow or spry,
It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

-Edmund Vance Cooke