Less Than Serious

My grandchildren know the name 'Shel Silverstein,' because I have four of his books, and I've read his poetry to them on many occasions. If you're familiar with his work, you already know he wrote a lot of nonsense, but it's the créme de la créme of nonsense as far as my grandchildren are concerned.

I, on the other hand, tend to write rather serious poems, fifty-one of which were recently published by Rock's Mills Press under the title "Footnotes" – poems of loss, the passage of time, and mortality.

Occasionally, however, the late Mr Silverstein's work inspires me to write something just for fun. Here's one I scribbled out this morning that will likely never be published outside of this blog.

Orange and Purple

Some people make claims that just aren’t true.
Perhaps they just lack imagination.
I’m often told what I cannot do
In a given situation.

They say that nothing rhymes with “or-ange,”
But Angela, the maid, would disagree.
She’s often told to, “Sweep the floor, Ange.”
And that’s a rhyme – you must agree.

I’ve heard that nothing rhymes with “pur-ple.”
My wife and I were pulling taffy.
I pulled it first, then it was her pull.
Does that not rhyme? – sounds fine to me.