One day when I had finally written
a poem to post for show
a poem that met the biki's challenge
he said it had to go
It did not fit, did not belong
it was not of proper form
my first attempt at challenge work
from the Kal it was quickly torn
He meant well, he said, it was for the best
clean it up, repost, he urged
But I was lying in fetal pose
traumatized, my work had been purged
At first I did what most will do
when life's full of events that pain
I swam at length in the sea of denial
my poem, kind biki, will retain
But he didn't no, he stuck to his claim
that my poem was on the brink
of violating protocol, of breaking the rules
so at last I called a shrink
"Doctor, Doctor, help me please
I'm not a poet you see
but I play one for fun with "real" writers online
posting lightweights for others to see
But my work, it's not right, it fails the test
it's doesn't fit, I am sure that I'm too dumb
Now, don't you see, I have invisible friends
I babble, drool and suck my thumb"
"You need help," he said, "You need counseling
And you need a copy of my bill
I can work wonders for you, I can cure you well
I can make you a poet, I will"
So now, thanks to biki, I'm in therapy
Talking of my mum, my potty training and my pets
But as god is my witness I'll get this thing licked
If it kills me, I'll be a poet, yet.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIKI!!!!!
*BIG HUG, WARM SMILE, AND A PINCH ON THE ARSE FOR GOOD MEASURE*
Clover
