God’s first word answers All, you see;
When „A“ he cried was poetry!
The Bard was smashing through the wood
a Ballad of Sir Robin Hood.
A Carol in the afternoon;
twelve days of Christmas coming soon.
The Death creates his masterpiece,
the Damsels need there handkerchiefs.
A baby cried an Epigram,
How Excellent – said uncle Sam.
The poet likes the Fairy tale,
Far more he likes the good old ale.
You know, the Gasel is exotic
and, Godness, yes, it is — erotic.
A poet with a poet’s Heart,
engraves the Heaven with his art.
The Iambus fills without to halt
the Inside of the poet’s vault,
A well-known poet is sir John,
his Jolly verses are foregone.
In Iceland all the Kennings dwell,
much older than the Kyirelle.
When for a Love song you’re too thick,
sit down, and write a Limerick.
Your Manuscript was just rejected?
Don’t Matter, you are not effected.
The poet writing in the Night,
writes Notable in candle light .
My true love likes the lovely Ode,
although it is a bit Out-mode.
I call it Palindrome, my friend,
the Punch: I start it at the end.
Long is the live, long is the Quest,
I sing Quatrains about the rest.
The Rhyme Royal — the good old stanza,
Reports the king’s extravaganza.
Spell one Sonnet when love is hot —
Ill-fated love? Then Spell a lot.
When you are writing a Tercet
it is like Trickling in corset.
My poetry is Underground
‚cause it includes Uncommon sound.
A special figure is Vers libre
its Voltage spreads through poet’s fibre.
The Waka once from Japan came,
to Write it is a fair old game.
Nobody knows the Xenolith,
it’s Xenoglossy just a bit.
The Yadu is a Burmese verse.
for You it’s easy to rehearse.
Zen poetry is strange and old,
it Zig-zaggs through your mind when told.