poetry is not my forte

[Michael Stone]

There is a young man in Toronto,
who can't find a girl he can hold onto.

His love life is tragic,
an absence of magic,

Where have all the women gone to?

So he channels his passions to write,
it helps him get through the night.

In the lonely midnight hours,
between the cold showers,

He lets his imagination take flight.

There is an undying dream,
that never loses its steam,

That one of his stories will sell.

And with celebrity and wealth,
and the keeping of health,

The girls will be ringing his bell!

 

[Rien]

Hee!

I am overwhelmed by the cuteness of this poem.

 

[Michael Stone]

Overwhelming cuteness

Why, thank you Rien. I'd like to say,
that with your nice comment, you've made my day!

Michael

 

[Lit_driven_girl]

I like your poem it made me smile.

Plus who doesn't like a guy who can write?

 

[Michael Stone]

I like your poem it made me smile.

Aww, shucks. Thanks!


>>who doesn't like a guy who can write?

hmm, a riddle. People who can't read? Eraser salesmen?

Stay silly!

-Michael-


"The lark sees more of the Earth than the earthworm."

Stephen Leacock, "Humour and Humanity".

 

[Rad]

your poem-
really doesnt need words to describe it....
for the feelings it evokes in its readers- is that something behind the smile that first sneaks its way out....
once i decipher the words for such things- will let you know!

 

[SFG75]

I like the ending the best. Nice to end it on a good note.