Alone Time

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The toilet is a quiet place to be,
Potential’s always there to be exposed,
And that is why we quickly get displeased,
When someone interrupts us out of clothes,

It seems so silly when you think of it,
Why should it matter since we all are there,
But down deep down you want to take a sit,
In simple silence no-one needs to share,

Today I sat and heard a rhythmic sound,
The stall beside me was now occupied,
The rhythm failed followed by the sound,
A male voice that grunted; he then sighed,

I truly wish that he had got a room,
I wish him well, but that’s my quiet doomed.

An Other Poetic Form

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I read up on the sonnet yesterday,
Because, I wanted something new to write,
Because, I wanted something new to say,
Because, I didn’t want to be so trite,

I thought it was too difficult to write,
A poem shaped to make it too obscure,
And, then I got too tempted not to bite,
So, writing this began to feel unsure,

At last, the form begins to feel more pure,
The keyboard clacks with regulated feel,
I’m pounding out the stanzas quick and sure,
Impending words are ever ever real,

Oh my, I think that its conclusion’s starting,
The thing is done; my brain’s not worth a farthing.

Writing About ADD

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I don’t know what to write,
Isn’t that the point of this?
Going on exposing this?
A scatter brained disease.

I come upon a word,
That makes me turn around a bit,
Before I can get back to sit,
The perfect word, “dis-ease.”

(And then I see the first line above:
Does the emphasis come on “don’t”?
Does the emphasis come on “know”?
And then I heave me a hefty sigh.

Heave Ho!)