Not writing about© 2018Tony Fallon77

Not writing about© 2018Tony Fallon77

The task of the poet gets tougher every day

I am often tempted to try my hand at a play

I can’t write a poem about anything already written

You can’t expect an Irishman to write about Britain

So there will be nothing about the white cliff of Dover

Since I’m Catholic nothing at all about Passover

Or I could try to write a new Haiku creation

As I have no subject for a new recitation

I am not going to write more about romance

Or a night in East Durham of song and dance

So few new subjects I don’t know where to begin

If I started them I might never fin

What words do I use when I want to compose?

Everybody knows already that red is the rose

Every flower on earth has a poem or a sonnet

And there’s already a legend about a blue bonnet

Some say Mary had a lamb and also a bear

There also is a legend about turtles and a hare

They have also covered a wolf huffing and puffing

And two innocent pigs who thought he was bluffing

I cannot write of lakes with some golden daffodils

Or lakes in Ireland beneath Killarney’s green hills

I can’t write about Casey the baseball maven

And Poe copyrighted his words about the raven

So many poems about hearts that were breakin’

They even wrote one about the road not taken

Enough is written about the moon and the stars

And Hobos hitching rides in railway boxcars

Great poems have been written one after another

About great Moms or a real evil godmother

There are enough poems written about death and dying

Some so gruesome and brutal that they are horrifying

There is something about a motel and Mister Bates

The lovely Isle of Innisfree was the creation of Yates

We had Moby Dick and we also had Jaws

And poems about Rudolf and Santa Clause

Children love to hear stories of Casper the Ghost

And they’ve covered shipwrecks on many a coast

We can’t have another charge of the light brigade

And nobody wants to hear more about De Sade

In olden days the valiant slew fire breathing dragons

And settlers trudged to the west in covered wagons

 You can’t dance with yourself or dance in the dark

Or talk about a mild manned reporter named Clark

There have been poems of brave soldiers who died

Out in the west there was Bonnie and Clyde

And cowboys and rustlers who lived rough on the prairie

Irish soldiers in France singing songs about Tipperary

You can depend on someone to write about latest trends

They have the sidewalks of NY and where the sidewalk ends

I can’t use any of the subjects covered by Robert Burns

And I can’t write another poem about Grecian urns

No more shall anybody write about the great Robin Hood

There has been far too many wild tales of babes in the wood

Neither can I write about Jonas being eaten by a whale

After being thrown into the ocean in the middle of a gale

If I stole words from Frost or Whitman people would be riled

But if I stole words from Oscar his fans would go Wilde