These are a couple Rhymsical rejects. The first one is simply an embarrassment, and the second has no purpose.
The first one was to respond to my early notions on poetry, that it was silly, and for some reason i focused on trees, perhaps it was "Superman I" that traumatized me. So, when i began to like poems i decided to try my hand. The worst part is the word "broke". Then there's the poor meter and tempo. I just figure that if i put it out in plain view and say make fun of it, it'll hurt less.
The second was an attempt at free rhymes. That is, no story, just rhymes that popped into my head, with a slight effort for connection. It failed miserably.
I've heard and I've listened, to many as they spoke,
While their eyes glistened, my ears almost broke,
Or my eyes from reading, that definitely did more,
And the direction that they were leading, was certainly a bore.
The poems they created, about the trees in their sight,
It can certainly be debated, if they were worthwhile to write.
But in that which at first, I did not wish to expound,
I was about to burst, with the beauty that I found.
Cause I saw trees in a new light, like that of never before,
And I had a feeling to write, all the thoughts that I bore
To think a thought of three blind men, flying down a river,
The soap they bought, from the big white hen, was nothing more than a sliver.
What should they do, while they were there, trying to get clean,
Then the shampoo, for their hair, how could they be seen?
The idea they had, which wasn't so bad, it was all that the three of them got,
It came from the lad, who looked very sad, cause he was from the same lot.
So on we'll go, with our tale, after they used their soap,
Head to toe, include the nail, at least with a little hope.
Hmm... White Hen Pantry was a convenience store in Chicago.
And you thought *your* poems were bad...