I'm gonna get serious about writing serious poetry...soon.
I am a poet, a smith, a veritable husbandman of words.
Like a tree, words have roots, they grow, and split into branches
The sun causes different shades. The fruit varies in size and weight.
I love them. I chew them up and spit out the seeds.
Word seeds mix with the new soil, with other environments
Over time the apple word develops a wide array of colourful hues.
The taste of the word is sweeter, juicier, or perhaps more tart.
There is a golden, delicious, gala of meanings.
The problem comes when comparing apples or rhyming oranges.
This is where the analogy runs into a tree and crashes.
Now I get weird, cheesy, and puny; which is what I do best.
I stared at a prompt list of words and went crazy.
Susquehanna: Isn't that the female version of Sasquatch?
Talisman: The banana counter. He tallies them before daylight.
Moiety: The quality of being a stooge. (see also curley or hi-larity)
Woebegone: An ACME spray product to get rid of troubles.
Bucolic: A. a baby scared into an upset tummy. B. a kind of plague.
Gambol: To play away your money and have to skip a meal.
Offing: The penultimate step in a mob negotiation.
Fugacious: A good fellow willing to forgive. (ie Fuggedabuddit)
Bungalow: A dead buffalo used to plug a hole in something.
Untoward: Moving away from. (Lit. me in a unitard)
Pancea: Thinly sliced smoked Italian bacon.
Balderdash: A. Breaking an orb. B. A less hirsute short foot race.
I am a poet, a smith, a veritable husbandman of words.
I love them. I chew them up and spit out the seeds.
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