POETRY

Making Sense of the Nonsensical

A daisy-chain poem

So I ‘ve been invited To do a daisy-chain poem, Can’t say I don’t have the time, I’m just sitting at home.

Poets are counting on me, I need to do my bit; If I don’t do my part, All their poems will turn to shit.

So I here I sit Banging away at the keys. Am I really making sense, Or just sense to me?

Well, I guess that’s the question That we poets do strive, To make sense of the nonsensical, To make sense that we’re alive.

Although doubts cross my mind In this time of Covid, To make sense of our citizens Shopping sans mask, it’s carefully hid.

But what the hell, I’m a poet; I’ll just keep pulling words from my hat. While one orange politician Just pulls them, well, out of his… ass.

In the mysterious way that poets know I have come to the poem's end. So why did I really pen this? Mayhaps to make some new poet friends.

Here you go, Martin Rushton. That was very fun. Thank you for starting it. Thanks to Neha Sandhir S for including me.

Here is some poetry of mine.