An original poem before bed.

[Horse with no Name]

Like a moth to a flame the believers came
To dance on the wave of a spurious knave
Throwing stones at all who dared to cast a pall
On the one THEY chose to represent us all.

The pied ones would follow the words of the hollow
And if one dared to question they were met with aggression
If truth was your venture you were threatened with censure
Despite the deluge of rhetoric that is wrencher.

[Fearless]

1. Nice!

[patrice]

2. Internal rhyme! That's hard to do!

Like Gerard Manly Hopkins, who was also interested in "pied" things, btw.

:hi:

[Horse with no Name]

4. Well I had ten minutes to kill, lol

:hi:

[Blue-Jay]

3. I prefer poetry that's clever.

For instance:

Chuck Chuck bo buck
Banana fana fo fu..............<insert train wreck noise>

[PATRICK]

5. Two pleasant distractions of mine

Heightened, lightened, soft, extreme
Less of real, more of dream
Rhythmic dance of waltzing words
Rites relayed to huddled herds
Of hearers charmed, blessed, bemused
By magic spells with feelings fused.

and

Day lay idly the lady by the lily
Day by day, side by side, lazily and silly.
Dully dyed those lacy frills
Upon the dress of Sally
From soaking up the toxic spills
That filled the hazy valley.

And goodnight.

[Horse with no Name]

6. That prose is fantastic! I'm impressed.

Goodnight to you, too.