I've always enjoyed lighthearted verse but, like so many people, considered it a low form of poetry. Perhaps it is but, during this strange and joyless period in our history, I've found that writing verse of that type has improved my mood considerably. I'm not advocating rhyme as a cure for existential angst but it's certainly helped me. Here's the first of a season of what might well be described as 'ridiculous rhymes'. You'll find others on my Facebook page:- https://www.facebook.com/richard.fleming.92102564
REX CANEM POETA
An obscure poet known as Rex
wrote poetry that was complex.
His sonnets and his villanelles
were all about obnoxious smells
or lamp-posts, pavements or of trees
and urination, if you please.
Lord Tennyson, Wordsworth or Keats,
none ever wrote of doggy-treats:
yes, daffodils and things like that
but none had ever chased a cat.
Rex sits and types, the poems mount:
at least a hundred at last count.
Indeed, it seems he had the gall
to write a poem about a ball
and how, each time he brought it back,
he was rewarded with a snack.
He’s written, now, a roundelay
about a bone, oh dear, let’s pray
that canine poetry’s a fad.
The fellow’s clearly barking mad.
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