A Ham, Not a Poet

by

Hardy Parkerson

O that I could express myself in rhyme!
O that I could write in proper time!
O that my syllables would fall in place!
O that my lines would flow with grace!
But when I write, I fall flat on my face.

A poet must write good poems to show it;
And critics and scholars must know it,
Before he can call himself a poet;
Or else the poet will blow it.

Silly rhymes, silly rhymes, silly rhymes!
All the time, all the time, all the time!
Why do I write this silly stuff?
Haven't I already written enough?

I sit at this typing machine,
Trying to write poems that are clean.
Sometimes a word that's risque
Fits into my poem, but I throw it away.

For I don't like words that are tacky,
And using them makes me unhappy.
My poems must be in good taste;
I must write them with style and with grace.

O I need to quit trying so hard
To become what I'm not: a bard.
Need to start being just what I am;
And that's not a poet, but a ham.

Now, a ham's unskillful, inept,
When something artistic he attempts;
Like writing poetry and becoming a poet,
When he lacks the skill but doesn't know it.

Yes, I'm a ham, not a poet;

And ruefully, friend, I know it.

So I'll quit spending my time

Writing these silly rhymes.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Of The Praises Of Paupers
by: Francis Duggan
from: Wonthaggi, Victoria, Australia

To visit all of Hardy Parkerson's poems, click HERE

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